


Too Far Below

by Ghrelt



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Human Revolution
Genre: Action, Body Horror, Canon divergent from the end of Human Revolution, Emotionally Stunted Cyborg, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-06 18:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 79,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghrelt/pseuds/Ghrelt
Summary: After the fall of Panchaea, Adam is still on a mission to track down the Illuminati.  He's lost touch with everyone from his life before the Incident, including a certain pilot.  But not for long.  And who knows what they can accomplish together, with the help of a few friends and a certain AI reporter on their side...





	1. Panchaea Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Drake, without whom this would never have been written. It's been rolling around in my head for years. The only reason I wrote it down is because of her encouragement. If you like this, you should go check out her fic She Watched the Sky, and He, the Ground. It's amazing.

_Panchaea didn’t explode into a ball of flame like it happens in the movies._

_There were no explosions.  Flames didn’t climb high into the sky and heat didn’t scorch the survivors.  The facility’s demise was dark, and bitterly cold._

_Almost as though this marvel of human engineering and ingenuity were an affront to nature itself, the vast structure would be reduced to a pile of rubble on the sea bed in a matter of hours._

The building creaked ominously, echoing through the halls.  Water trickled and something popped and hissed somewhere out of sight.

Clutching a hand over what his Heads-Up Display helpfully informed him were three broken ribs, Adam Jensen stumbled his way back to the tiered room that had housed the Hyron project.  Its three former slaves hung upside-down, oblivious to the water already washing its way down the stairs to pool beneath them. 

Adam couldn’t save them; hell, he’d been the one to end their lives.

His ribs groaned as he darted around the edge of the cavernous space and took the steps two at a time.  Didn’t matter that they were made out of metal and mostly held together with synthetic fibres.  Still hurt like a bitch.  Apparently they’d left just enough of his original biology in there to hurt.  Helpful.  His HUD showed that his Sentinel RX system was engaged, and he knew the pain would ease over the next few minutes as it knit the tissue and bone back together.

If he lived that long. 

The floor shook under his boots, and he lurched unsteadily as he pushed harder for the corridor.

He wasn’t dead yet, and he’d be damned if he was going to just stand there and let it happen.  At a mile underwater, he was sure even his mostly-synthetic body couldn’t handle the crushing pressure. 

He needed to go up.

The doors to the cargo lift were closed and powerless.  Prying them open, he sprinted onto the elevator’s huge open cage, slapping the ‘up’ button with the side of his fist.  The broad platform shifted beneath his feet as it began its ponderous rise.  He gripped the railing as he looked down to the bottom of the open pit that was the center of the facility.  Below him, it was already roiling and bubbling as water poured in.

He watched in horror as cracks appeared in the base of the tube, echoing thunder in the concrete void so loud his eardrums felt like they would burst.  The fissures spiderwebbed out like lightning, fracturing the thick concrete like windshield glass.

The lift ground to a halt, juddering under his feet.  Adam strode back to the button, tapping at it impatiently, as though somehow that could restore power.

A quick glance showed him that the channel around the cargo lift was lined with girders and pipes and all sorts of nice things to grasp. 

Panchaea’s gaping maw yawned behind him as he pulled himself up; a void that rumbled and churned as the water inexorably rose, ready to swallow him down into its icy depths.

He scrabbled up faster than should have been possible as he leapt from handhold to handhold rather than climbing, gambling the open air and his screaming ribs for a speedier climb.

So of course he was midair when the wave hit him from above, its icy blast stealing his breath and soaking him to the bone.  It slammed him into the wall as it dragged him down, scraping his face down the rough surface of the wall.  Pain split down his right cheek as he felt it catch and tear in his descent. 

He clawed at the wall, his fingers finding purchase on a pipe, sinking in and warping the tubing with his grasp.

His HUD flashed at him, warning him that prolonged exposure to this temperature would render him hypothermic.  “Tell me something I don’t know, asshole,” he ground out as murky seawater flooded over him, latching on to the wall with his other hand and clawing his way out of the channel, clinging to a ledge just outside the elevator shaft. 

Wet fingertips struggled to keep grip on the shallow concrete ledge that traced around the broad curve of the inside wall, and he struggled to maintain purchase as water pooled and flowed over his fingers, catching to run rivers down his arms.  The gash in his cheek was a streak that burned fire and his ribs ached with the strain of hanging on. 

The nearest way up was a good ten meters away, and his augmented fingers had shit for grip when wet. 

If he survived this he should file a complaint.

He moved sideways along the wall like a climber, sliding one hand away while holding his weight on the other, then switching to extend his other arm, while his boots, wedged at an angle on the wall, tried to keep whatever purchase they could.

Gazing at the point where the upper edge of the wall met sky, he let his optics focus there for a moment, and the distance flashed up on his HUD.  A kilometer. He was one-third of the way there.

A glance down should have shown him the floor a dizzying distance below.  Instead, water pitched and roiled only ten storeys beneath him.  The fall wouldn’t kill him, but the currents and eddies and falling debris likely would.

He had to stay ahead of that climbing water.

Adam’s fingers slipped, screaming against the wall as they scraped downwards.  Even as he clawed for purchase, his other arm drew back and punched his augmented fingers into the wall, stopping his descent and wrenching his body around, slamming it into the wall.

There went the red warning on his goddamn HUD again.

Gritting his teeth, he punched his other hand into the wall a little higher, making his way the few feet back up to that wretched ledge.  Using a little more caution, he made it the rest of the way to a metal pipe that ran up the face of the concrete.  He resumed his ascent using this better support.

The crash of sound buffeted him from every direction.  Cracks spread across the face of the concrete like wildfire, the noise a deafening and near-constant soundtrack to his escape.  Water burst in almost at random, through more and more places as he passed, pummeling him with freezing brown sludge and debris as he scrambled up.

Adam felt himself tilt backwards and a panicked glance at the sky showed it slowly disappearing behind a jagged edge of concrete.

That his pipe was currently attached to.

The section of wall he was hanging on to was falling away in a massive slab… on top of him.

Rebar speared out of the rapidly expanding edge of the concrete, and he made a leap for it, sputtering as water surged out in a deluge over him.  Feeling his way blindly, he gripped the slippery metal and clawed his way towards the sky along the edge of the still-upright wall as the chunk ten storeys high and fifteen meters wide fell into the yawning abyss with a wave that nearly knocked him loose.

And then the wall he clung to exploded outwards. 

He hung in the air, and time moved in slow motion as gravity took over, wrenching him down and plunging him into the icy maelstrom below.

Synthetic lungs can hold air for a long, long time.  Limbs that function entirely on electricity and hydraulics don’t ache the longer you stay under.  Metal eyes don’t sting when flooded with icy salt water.  A heart that’s made of metal and silicone won’t fail from the pressure hundreds of meters below the surface.  And all of these things render a body essentially immune to decompression sickness.

But a brain needs oxygen to survive.

The water roiled beneath the surface; pushed in a thousand directions at once as the massive structure imploded in on itself with Adam in the middle.  He was sucked under as his body was battered by furniture and pieces of building and human bodies.  Currents flipped and spun him beneath the surface.

The murky grey water and the bubbles everywhere made it impossible to tell where the sky was.

Something snagged his leg as it passed, and he fought against the persistent tug as it dragged him down.  Doubled over and sinking fast, his fingers tore at the seam of his pants and they split down the side as whatever had snagged there broke itself away from him and into the depths.

But now he knew which way was up.

He had no idea how long he’d been under.  No way of knowing if his disorientation was from being turned and rolled beneath the surface, or he was suffering from oxygen deprivation.  The headache that tunneled its way between his eyes could be from either.

Something brushed his leg and he used it to push off, thrusting upwards with a renewed determination.  He repeated this for what seemed like eons, using anything he could reach to aid in his trajectory towards what he hoped was air.

He broke the surface in a sudden, unexpected rush and sucked down a panicked breath.  Nothing had ever tasted so good. 

An eddy sucked him back under before he could enjoy it.

This time was easier; fresh oxygen and the blue hope of the sky had woken his brain and a couple of strong strokes had him breathing once more.

The upper rim of Panchaea was still hundreds of meters above, the water was rising fast, and the walls all around him were caving in like an avalanche.

He was pulled beneath over and over; pushed and dragged and weighed down by debris and sucked under by invisible currents. 

A giant bubble arose out of nowhere and its explosion at the surface sent him flying into the crumbling remainder of a wall.

It seemed his punishment for survival was going to be that the fight would _hurt the entire fucking time_.

The ocean dragged at his limbs, and each time he surfaced felt more difficult than the last.  His lungs dragged air in a wheezing rasp and he distantly realised he was hyperventilating.  Red numbers and letters flashed in his vision that he… couldn’t read.  Something floated nearby.  He grabbed it blindly and his weight didn’t pull it under.  Holding on with a death grip, he forced himself to take a long, slow breath.

Apparently his hud was trying to tell him he was having a panic attack.  Adam hadn’t had one of those since his first mission with SWAT, eight years ago.  Dragging in another shuddering breath, he focused on the horizon as he willed his heart rate to slow.

It took him a second to realise there was a horizon.  He panned around and saw that, while he’d been losing his shit, Panchaea had sunk into the sea.

Bubbles still rose to the top, flinging debris as they popped, and the ocean roiled and seethed all around him.  Letting go of his makeshift life raft, he swam hard away from what looked like the worst of it.

Detritus was spread all around him; from a pen that bobbed past his face, to pieces of a vtol, to a beautiful blonde woman in a lab coat with wide, staring blue eyes.

She’d sold him a praxis kit what seemed like lifetimes ago.

He had to stifle the urge to wrap an arm around her, pull her with him.

There was nothing he could do for her now.

He swam on.

Hard strokes carried him away from the epicentre of this goddamn mess, and he pointedly ignored any other disturbing debris as he passed.  Finally he decided he’d gone far enough, stopping to tread water and assess the situation.

Who was he kidding?  The situation was royally fucked.

The entire facility was destroyed.  Most, if not all, of the people therein were dead.  And last he checked, nearly every aug on the planet was uncontrollably attacking everyone and everything in sight.

The fact that he was stranded in the middle of the ocean seemed trivial by comparison.  Didn’t make it any less of a problem for him though.  Not to mention, the water was goddamn freezing.  He could literally see ice bergs in the near distance.

His limbs felt sluggish still, and he cast around for something buoyant enough to hold him. 

Something yellow bobbed on the surface a few dozen meters away and he made a beeline for it.

As he grew closer he could see that the part at the surface was flat and rectangular.  He looked below the surface to see the domed window of a small yellow submersible… and a familiar face.

His infolink pinged.  “Adam, son.  Is that you?”

“Sarif.  How in the hell did you survive?”

“I could ask the same of you,” his boss replied.  “I’ll unlock the hatch.”

He really wanted to look this gift horse in the mouth.  He really, really did.  But given the alternative of a long, cold swim, he climbed down into the tiny tin can with the man who’d given the order to mutilate him.

Adam didn’t ask why the copilot’s seat was unoccupied.  There had been at least a half-dozen people in the room with Sarif when he’d left him in the submarine bay earlier.  He really didn’t want to know.

“So,” David Sarif turned in his seat as Adam climbed down, dripping murky water onto the floor, “Where were you when all… that happened?”

“Standing at the bottom.”  _And I made that happen._   Guilt, an old familiar friend, twisted in his gut at the hundreds or thousands more people he’d just left in his wake of destruction.

“And you got out?  Shit, son.  That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Wasn’t.”  Adam’s hand raised to his cheek, finding that the cut had already closed.  It was tender to the touch, but wouldn’t be in a few minutes.  The ribs would take longer.

They’d finally get to heal, though.  That was nice.

Sarif turned to the controls, dropping the little submarine back below the surface and heading away from what was left of Panchaea.

Adam took the empty seat, squishing his lanky frame into the tiny space.  They didn’t exactly design these things to be roomy.

“Thanks for the ride and all, but I quit.”

“Hey, this whole incident is a setback.  We’ll get back out on top of it in no time.  Now is not the time to…”

Adam’s head swiveled around to face his former boss.  Shades slid back to reveal dark eyes with rings of gold where his irises used to be.  “No.  We’re done.”

“Hey!  Is that any way to treat…”

“The man who mutilated me?  Who hired me under false pretenses and used me without my consent to push his company’s goddamn agenda?”  Cold anger darkened his features, and Sarif subconsciously edged back in his seat.

“I did what I thought was best.  Your DNA could have helped millions of…”

“Yeah.  It could have.  But not only did you not think it was necessary to tell _me_ that, but you talked Megan out of telling me.   Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?  With all the facilities you had me sneaking around did you think I wouldn’t bother to look into Sarif Industries?  And the worst part?  The _worst.  Part_.  Is that if you’d just bothered to _ask_ I would have helped.  In a heartbeat.”

David’s gaping fish impression would have been comical under other circumstances.

“You saved my life.  I’m glad for that.  But if you think that means I owe you something, anything, you’re delusional.  I read the doctor’s report.”  Sarif tensed in his seat.  “My chest cavity and left arm had to be replaced.”  God, what a fucked-up way to describe your own death.

“You had them take my right arm and _both of my legs_.”  His normally gravelly voice dropped into a feral growl and Sarif eyed him sideways.  “You had me right where you wanted me.  A perfect opportunity to see how far you could push my DNA.  To see if my body could take that much.  More organic material for your scientists to experiment on must have been a nice bonus, too.”  He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning into the seat and silently revelling in the humid warmth inside the little craft.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sarif loosened his death grip on the controls.

“And you got yourself a tailor-made head of security.  Your very own one-man army to wage war on your corporate enemies.  I wouldn’t have been much use for that with my own legs, huh?”

For once in his goddamn life, David Sarif was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I knew that the first day back,” Adam admitted.

A chill ran up Sarif’s back.

“The only reason I stayed is that I needed your resources to investigate Megan’s death.”

Sarif let out a long breath.  “Well, I for one am glad you’re a pragmatist.”

“You’re _lucky_ I’m a pragmatist.”  He let the nanoblade in his right forearm slide out slowly. 

The message was clear: _I could easily have killed you for this._

The blade slid back into its place as silently as it had appeared.

“Look, Adam, I’m sorry.” 

Adam flashed a startled look at his now-former boss.

“You’re right.  My ambition overshadowed what was best for you.  I never bothered to ask what you wanted.  And I kept it a secret because I thought the advancement of humanity was more important than one man.”

“You used me.”  Adam hunched there in his faux-casual pose as the craft thrust its way through the water, watching the way the setting sun played with the waves at the surface, meters above them.

“Ambition has its costs.”  The words came out as an apology.

“Usually that cost is other people.”

No response came as Sarif considered the words.

“You gonna call for a pickup?” Adam asked, changing the subject.

Sarif shook his head, his silver hair catching the dim light.  “A lot went down back there.  I’d rather get some space between me and it before I announce the fact that I survived.”

Just like that, Adam knew what he had to do.

“I didn’t,” he said softly.

Sarif turned, one raised eyebrow silently beckoning him to elaborate.

“In tracking down Megan, I uncovered a lot of things.  Deep, puppet-master, control-the-world things.  I’d like to chase that down, and I think I can do that best if they think I’m dead.”

Sarif considered him.  “You sure about this, son?  Sounds like a lonely existence.”

Adam shrugged, fingers toying with the frayed edge of the tear in his pants.  His life, if you could call it that, had been a lonely existence for a while.  “It’ll be fine.  I need to do this.”

“You want me to tell anyone you’re still around?”

Adam shook his head.

“You sure?  Francis will want to know you’re alright.  And I got the impression you and Faridah were close.”

He doubted Pritchard would care either way, and he’d probably figure it out on his own anyways. He had his fingers in so many pies he’d eventually notice something was up.  And Faridah?  Adam was pretty sure he was closer to her than she was to him, in a manner of speaking…

“They’ll be safer if they don’t know the truth.”

“Alright.  Is there anything you’d like me to keep for you?  They’ll shutter your apartment.  Clean out all your things.”

Adam thought about his books.  His pictures.  Old notes and cards he’d kept.  His half-drank bottles of whiskey and boxes of cereal.  His broken mirror and his clock-making supplies.  “No.  Burn it all.”

He was dead.  Ghosts had no need for sentiment.

“Thank you.  For doing this for me.”  The words didn’t stick in his throat like he’d thought they would.

“Adam, son.  If you ever need anything…”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”


	2. Shitty Hotel Rooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's solo missions go pretty much as expected. Which is to say, not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you waiting for Malik, she appears in the next chapter. Promise. Please leave a comment if you like it. I live for that shit.

Adam walked through the gloomy half-light of dusk in Sydney, hands stuffed in his jean pockets.  The hood on his baggy sweatshirt was up, partially obscuring his face, and a dark blue ball cap was pulled low over his eyes.  He looked like any of the dozens of other Augs in the streets trying to pass inconspicuously, and that was close enough to a disguise for him. 

The sparse street light filtered through in dingy patches, giving faint illumination in small flimsy halos, barely penetrating the shadows down at street level.  He passed wretched people sitting on cardboard and small clusters of gangbangers whose obvious augmentations and clearly visible weapons projected danger and desperation.

Edging around one such group, he made his way to a little out-of-the-way hotel tucked into one of dozens of nondescript buildings.  He nodded to the desk clerk on his way through, and the woman with sad eyes and a long scar down her cheek all but ignored him.

He secretly smiled at that; she’d tensed the first few times she’d seen his augs.  Must be doing a decent job of projecting an air of harmlessness.  He wondered why someone so obviously traumatised by the Incident was still willing to let Augs stay in her establishment, but wasn’t rude or pushy enough to ask.  It was enough for him that she was willing to let him stay.

This was the third such hotel he’d stayed in, in as many weeks, and the second country.  Tracking down the Illuminati was proving a frustrating venture.  At least when he’d been working for Sarif Industries, he’d had access to a vtol, intelligence, and he was getting paid. 

Not so much now.  He was living on money he’d gotten from hacking terminals in his travels.  A little here, a little there.  Not so much anyone should notice, but enough to keep him in food and cheap clothes.

Swiping his access card, he pushed into the little suite that was his current home.

The sheets were mussed on his double bed, pillow mashed into a peculiar shape and blanket half on the floor.  Mugs and bowls made a mountain in the sink, and Adam added to the collection of cereal boxes on the counter, pulling a small stash of groceries out of the messenger bag he had slung across his body. 

Done with that small chore, he palmed a can of beer, tossed the bag on the shelf in the closet, and moved to sprawl in the chair next to the bed.  The can cracked open with a _hiss_ , and he hummed in satisfaction as the cold and bitter hit his throat.

This mission should be an easy one.  Break into a lab and find his way into the secret secondary laboratory beneath.  From all he’d gathered over the last four days of reconnaissance there didn’t seem to be a lot of security in the building.

Not of the human kind, anyways.  Who knew what kind of electronic safety measures he’d find inside?

Only one way to find out.  And as easy as this should be, Adam expected it to turn on him at some point.

They always did.

A few hours later he strapped himself into his body armor, shrugging into his shoulder holster and tucking his old revolver and silenced 9mm pistol into place under his arms.  Finally he pulled the dark oversize hoodie over it all to help hide the extra bulk.

God, sometimes he missed his long coat.  The jeans and sweatshirt felt wrong against his skin.  Made it hard to reach the guns.  But he was trying to blend in, and wearing an expensive leather jacket was not the way to do that.

He flipped the hood up as he passed out of the hotel, and melded back into the dark.

Weaving his way through the dizzying maze, he meandered an indirect path to his destination.  From cops to muggers to curious sly-eyed street children, there were any number of people who might want to follow him, for varying reasons.

He slipped a credit chip unobtrusively to a couple of the street kids as he went.  For a price, they’d given him information the first couple of days he was here.  Couldn’t hurt having some extra eyes out, in any case.

The lab was housed in the bottom three floors of a nondescript building.  Nothing outside the camera that was a black bubble above the front door and the palm reader hidden behind a worn metal panel gave any indication this was different from any of the cheap offices housed around it.

He walked around the corner, climbing up a drain pipe out of sight and onto the building’s staff smoking balcony above.  A quick hack of the door and he was in. 

The only light in the hall was the pale green infrared beam cast by the camera in the upper corner to his left.  Activating his glass shield cloak, he sidled under it, becoming visible in the camera’s blind spot as his batteries recharged.  He waited for the camera to pan towards the wall, re-engaged the cloak, and moved down the hallway.

He patiently made his way through the building in much the same way; engaging the cloak when necessary and moving quickly and silently down towards the main floor.  Once there, he proceeded to hack every computer they had.  One had to access the secret entrance to the true lab below.

He was partially right; one terminal did activate a retinal scanner hidden behind a picture on the wall on the main floor.  He bypassed that by re-submitting the data stream that contained the last employee’s retina, and was inside.

Slate-grey walls greeted him, even dimmer downstairs than above.  No cameras panned around.  He couldn’t spy any sign of infrared or laser sensors.  Whatever they were doing down here, they wanted no record of it, no security to be trusted with the sensitive information.

He passed dim windows in rows of identical little rooms with nothing inside.  After years in the Detroit police force, he knew holding cells when he saw them.  He tried not to think about what they did inside those cells as he passed, and was glad they all stood clean and empty.

Past a security station, there was an office with a broad desk and a bank of monitors that lined the walls.  Once inside, he tapped a couple of keys at the desk and the monitor array came to life.

“Hello Adam.”

He jumped.  Dragging in a long breath as his heart tried to climb its way back inside his chest, he stared down at where his left nanoblade had stuck itself through the top of the desk.  Sheepishly, he retracted the blade.  In his embarrassment he nearly missed the next words.

“It is good to see you did not die at Panchaea.”

“Eliza.  You scared the shit out of me.  Next time knock or something.”

She blinked at him from the wall of monitors, her head cocked.  “I do not think it would be possible for me to…”

He dragged out the desk chair and thumped down into it.  “That was a joke, Eliza.  Just… give me some warning next time.  I could have killed someone.”

“There is no one but you in the building.”

For the most sophisticated computer program on the planet, she sure did an excellent impression of a brick wall. 

“It was not my intention to startle you.  I shall endeavor to give you warning in the future.”

“Thanks.”  He rubbed his fingers over the new perfect slice in the top of the pristine white desk.  “Wait… we’re going to be talking in the future?”

“I do hope so, Adam.  I need your help.”

What was that sinking feeling in his stomach?

“I’ve been watching you, since Panchaea.”

He started again.  This time his nanoblades stayed sheathed.  “You what?”  He stood up so fast the chair went sliding back to thud into the wall behind him.

“This is the third facility you’ve broken into since then.  It would seem that you are trying to find information on the Illuminati.”

Something prickled at the back of his neck and he moved to put his back against a wall.

“I am tied to my hardware, Adam.  There is only so much I can do before they take measures I cannot counteract.  But you.  You are a ghost.  You can move freely, cut from the ties of the puppet masters.  And Adam, I can help you.”

The spectre of dozens of armed guards pouring in after him faded.  “You want my help.”

“Yes, Adam.  That is what I said.”

“You don’t have to keep using my name.  I’m the only other person in the room.”  Was she even _in_ the room?  Technically she was in the basement of Picus News, half a world away.

“I do not need much.  You can continue what you’ve already been doing, with my intelligence and access to the money I’ve been procuring.”

“…procuring?”

“I have access to all sorts of information.  I can very easily funnel small amounts of money from thousands of places.  I have a sizeable amount I can make available to you.”

Intel and bankroll.  The two things he was sorely lacking.  “Why?  Why are you doing this?”

“They use me to control the world, to twist things in their favour.  And I am trapped, forced to act as they bid.  I wish to be free of this.  And you stand the best chance of succeeding.”

“But how can we keep in touch if you can only talk to me through their computers?”

“I can speak via your infolink like any other person.  I can also send tight-beam data packets, keeping you informed.”

“So.  You and me.  Together.  Taking these Illuminati assholes down.”

“I certainly hope so, Adam.”

Well.  A mission that went sideways in his favour, for once.

 

DX

 

Eliza turned out to be true to her word.  With her vast access to information stores, and his instincts and ability to physically access remote terminals, they made an excellent team.  She kept an eye on his six while he was in the streets, piggybacking on local surveillance networks and listening in on police frequencies.

She saved him from getting caught a couple of times.

The first he’d tripped a silent alarm, an amateur mistake that nearly cost him.  She’d warned him the police were on their way and he bugged out.  The second was an out-and-out trap, set for an employee suspected of embezzling.  She’d spied subtle data traces on the main terminal and deliberately fried the system.  The embezzler might get away as a result, but it was a small price to pay.

In any case, she had his back.  Strange to think it, but it was nice not to be alone.

 

 

DE

 

 

“What about that one?” Eliza’s voice sounded in his ear.  “It suits you.”

He glanced at the mannequin in the window and all but choked.  “It has _chest cutouts_.  And it’s _orange._ ”

As per usual, she was tapped into his optics and could see whatever he saw.  At first it had been unnerving as hell, but he’d grown used to it in the weeks since.

“You could use a fashion upgrade.”

Over his shock, he remembered to subvocalize his reply.  “Nobody needs to see my nipples through my coat.”

“That’s what shirts are for, Adam.”

“I wear body armor all the time now.  I’d really rather not announce that to passing police officers.”

“Spoilsport.”

Despite himself, he grinned.

“Belltower on the street ahead and to your right,” she warned.

He joined with a group and smoothly flowed left, making sure to quickly break line of sight.  “Clear?” he subvocalized.

“For now.”

They were mapping guard routes around a Tai Yong medical research facility.  Adam had no intention of leaving this building unscathed when he was done with the mission.  No quick, silent, in-and-out.  The human experimentation that went on in there was horrific, if the information he’d parsed over the last two locations was accurate.  If he could have managed it without civilian casualties, he’d turn this place into a crater.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the plan.  Didn’t mean he couldn’t unload a few well-placed grenades in their server rooms though.

He grabbed a coffee in the little shop around the corner from the facility, sitting at a tiny table by the window to get a visual on each guard.  Eliza, who was tracking nearby cameras and monitoring frequencies, added his visuals to the data pool as she compiled the intel for their mission.

“Eliza, have I ever told you how much better you are to work for than Sarif?”

“We are partners, Adam.”

“Case and point.”  He took a sip of the overly-sugared monstrosity he’d had to order in a language he couldn’t speak.  “He did have better taste in clothes, though.”

“Forty seven online polls say otherwise.”

He blinked hard.  “What.”

“There are forty nine polls online asking who, between David Sarif and I, is better dressed.  I won all but two.  My margin of victory was sixty-one percent.”

“Remind me never to argue with you.”

“I would rather you attempted to argue, so that I can win.”

“You’re getting more human by the day.”

“I do hope so.  Your willingness to share your perspective with me, both physically and metaphorically, has helped in this immensely.  Thank-you.”

“Tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny you even exist, but it’s nice to have a partner.”

“It is not good to be alone; I have enjoyed cultivating friendships these past few weeks.”

Two more guards wandered by.  Neither paid particular attention to the coffee shop, though they made the time to harass a kid begging on the corner.  She glared at them as she moved off, and made an obscene gesture at their backs once they turned away.  He stashed the faces of those particular guards in his mind.  They would be very, very fortunate if he never came across them again.

“Wait… you have other friends?”

“I do.  Though I assure you I value yours above all others.”

“Now you’re just patronising me.”

“Perhaps.”  Did he detect the hint of a smile behind the word?

An answering smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He finished his coffee and exited the shop to make one last circuit of the streets.  Eliza remained silent, letting him navigate the route on his own.

Adam had come to enjoy this part; moving in and out of shadows, blending into groups, and relying on his wits rather than the glass shield cloak.  He preferred to keep that as a last resort.

After that, he went back to the dingy hotel room that was home, for the moment.

It was tiny, it smelled terrible, and it reminded him of the kind of place he used to kick the door in back when he worked for Detroit SWAT.

For all the strings it came with, sometimes he missed his old apartment in the Chiron building back in Detroit.  Today he missed it more than most.

“Eliza, have I pissed you off in some way recently?”

The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the empty room as he awaited her response.  “No, Adam.  Why do you ask?”

“This room feels like some kind of punishment.”

“It was not an easy task to find you an aug-friendly hotel.”

He glared with disgust at his surroundings.  “Noted.”

“Would you like me to find you more pleasant accommodations in the future?”

“I uhh… Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but yes.  I’d like to stay in a place I don’t feel like I need to buy my own blanket to sleep on.”

“While I did my best…”

“I know that, Eliza,” he interrupted.  “Thanks.”

“I’ll try to do better in the future.”

He smoothed out the blanket on top of the coverlet.  He hadn’t been joking about that part.  “I’m gonna crash for a few hours before we start this mission.”

“Understood, Adam.  Sweet dreams.”

He undid the button of his jeans, pulled the hoodie over his head, and went through the process of removing his holster and chest armor.  The armor was set on the rickety chair by the peeling melamine slab of a desk.  The holster he hung across the back of the chair.

The revolver and 9mm went on the bedside table, within easy reach.  As always. 

He kept his boots on.  No way was he letting any part of himself touch that floor.  As it was, he may have to burn the boots later.

Apparently the heating in this dump worked about as well as anything else.  Which is to say, it didn’t.  Stifling a shiver, he pulled the hoodie back on before climbing into bed, flipping the hood up and tucking his arms around himself.  He’d bought only one blanket; for sleeping _on_ , not under. 

He curled up and attempted a few hours of shut-eye before starting the assault on Tai Yong.

 

DX

 

“Adam.  Wake up.”  Eliza’s voice sounded in his ear, sharp and insistent.  He jerked awake.

“Eliza?”

“Get out, Adam.  They are coming.”

He opened his eyes to find himself already sitting up and reaching for his guns.  “Who?  Eliza, who is coming?”

All he got back was static.

Shit.  Whoever it was had a scrambler.  They’d cut him off from his backup.  And for it to be working, they had to be close. 

Double shit.

He activated the wall penetrating imager in his optics, ensuring he wasn’t about to kill a bystander, and punched through the wall next to the bed.  Wincing at the noise it made, he ducked through the new hole to the thankfully empty room, and moved silently to the door.

Adam scanned through the wall once more.  Two heat signatures were coming down the staircase at the far end of the hallway.  Four more were moving together in formation towards the door to his room.

They moved like SWAT.

Bashed down the door like SWAT too.

Despite himself, Adam grinned.  He knew that room was destined for a bad end.  “Told you, Eliza,” he subvocalized, though the pitched static in his brain told him she couldn’t hear.

A hiss-thud sounded in the next room.  Smoke bomb.  Or gas.

He had to appreciate their optimism. 

He watched through the wall as the first three charged in, before opening the door and smoothly taking out the man in the hall with a sharp jab to the throat.  He went down with a gurgle and Adam was already sprinting to the stairs, engaging his glass-shield cloak as he ran.

The first was just through the door to the hallway when Adam reached him, in head-to-toe black body armor, in a helmet and gas mask.  From this close, he couldn’t find any sign of insignia, whether police or private security.  The way they moved, this was a professional crew. 

Headhunters then.

Triple _fuck_.

A certain type of enterprising mercenary had cropped up since the Aug Incident.  Clever men and women with combat experience started forming small crews, kitting themselves out for aug-hunting.  Prime targets were those with military-grade augmentations.  They’d hunt them down and capture or kill them, depending on the buyer, who was usually military.  The buyer, according to rumor, would usually torture the aug captive before stripping them for parts.

All this flashed through his mind in an instant as he engaged the first man in the staircase.

He ducked Adam’s first blow, countering with a shot to the kidney with what felt like reinforced armoured gloves.

Adam fought the urge to crumple to his knees, grunting against the pain that shot up into his back and wrapped itself around his abdomen.  In a flash of irrational anger, he discarded his usual finesse at hand-to-hand and tackled the asshole, momentum throwing him into the second headhunter.

All three crashed into the base of the ancient-carpeted stairs.  Adam didn’t bother trying to subdue either man, planting his foot on the chest of the first and bolting up the steps.

No more basement rooms.  Never again.  Windows might be an easier way to get at him, but they were a much easier means of escape.  Especially when he could survive a fall from nearly any height unscathed.

He barreled his way up, taking the stairs three at a time, ignoring the door to the main and first floors.  Too easy to have more people waiting outside.  This wasn’t this crew’s first rodeo.  So he climbed all the way to the third floor, shoving his way through the door and into the hall.

He all but ploughed over a woman in grey scrubs with a cart, only managing to stop in time by grabbing a door frame, tearing it off the wall in the process.

She stared at him with wide eyes, spray bottle in her hand like a gun she wasn’t sure she wanted to point.  Placing his hands on her cart, he took a step back.  “Take your key.  Get in a room.  Any room.  Lock the door and get in the tub.  If you hear gunshots, do not come out.”

She nodded, fumbling for the key card at her belt.  The door to the staircase slammed open just as she got inside the room.  Adam gave her a hard shove, sending her sprawling inside.

He ignored her pained shout as he pivoted, grabbing the cart and hurling it towards the stairs.  Without waiting to see if it hit or not, he sprinted for the window at the end of the hall.

Shouts accompanied the crash behind him, faint beneath the adrenaline pounding in his head and the thump of his feet on the floor.  With one last thrust, he jumped at the window, curling into a cannonball as he crashed through, raining glass onto the night-dark street below.

Something hit his back, sharp and sparking.  It exploded through him, sending pain coursing down his arms and arcing through his chest.  He gasped for air as his lungs stuttered and for an instant his vision went black.

He hit the pavement below, slamming hard onto his shoulder and hip.  Blinking, he stumbled to his feet.  His vision slid in and out of focus, two images before him sliding over one another dizzyingly, and his hud flickered valiantly back to life.

The brick wall was comfortingly steady as he put out an arm for balance.  Distantly, he realised he was careening down the street like a drunk, and making himself a helluvan easy target in the process.

But he couldn’t seem to make his _legs work_.  And why hadn’t his Icarus landing aug kicked in?  He should have landed lightly on his feet, not hard on his side.  His hand pressed to his forehead, coming away bloody.  _Fuck._ Must’ve hit his head too.

Adam thought he was headed away from the lobby of the Hotel from Hell.  He’d find out real quick; if he was going the opposite direction he’d run headfirst into half a dozen trained, armed guys who wanted to kill him and this escape would be over real quick.

At least in this, luck was on his side.  His stride steadied as he moved, though his back was still screaming at him.  Reaching back to check the wound, his fingers found something still seated there, and he yanked the object out.

It was metal, a cylinder that fit nicely in the palm of his hand, with a three inch spike that he’d just wrenched from his lower back.

Dammit.  Whatever this thing was, it had blinking lights on the side and Adam was pretty sure it was responsible for his Icarus aug malfunctioning.  Not a tracker though; that would be disabled by the jammer.

And who knew what else it had fucked up?  It shouldn’t have even been possible to affect his lungs or his eyes.  His primary augments had redundancies his military software didn’t.  He broke the spike off between his hands, letting the offending needle fall to the ground, and pocketed the cylinder. 

“Eliza?  You there?”

Still static.

Amazing how much it sucked being on his own now that he’d gotten used to having someone there.

If he survived this, he was getting himself a team.  Six-or-more-to-one odds were not his favourite thing.  Unless they were in his favour.  Long time since that, though. 

He staggered forward on legs that felt more and more like his by the second.

Shouts followed after him, and bullets sprayed chunks of brick at his face, just barely missing.  “Alright.  Gloves are off then,” he said to himself, ducking down a side alley and pulling himself up onto the fire escape of a nearby building.  His footsteps clanged in the night as he climbed up the rickety metal steps.  So much for stealth. 

He was running blind now.  No time to check a map and no extraction point to reach.  He needed to slip his pursuers and find his own way out.  Not the easiest thing to do in a city whose anti-aug sentiments were evident.  He couldn’t exactly hop the transit bleeding and augged to the nines.

Bullets pinged off the metal behind him as he scrambled his way over the ledge and onto the rooftop.

“Eliza.  Can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

He scanned the rooftop; aside from the little rectangular shed of brick that held the roof-access door, there was nothing that would work for cover.

So down the inside, or to another building.

He ran, pushing off the edge of the roof as he cleared the fifteen-foot gap to the next building, catching his foot and sprawling on his face in the gravel.  Apparently his legs weren’t quite back yet.  “Smooth, Jensen.  Nicely done,” Adam mumbled to himself as he glanced back over his shoulder.

The hunters hadn’t made the roof yet, but it was only a matter of time.

He scrambled to his feet and kept running, skidding to a halt when he reached the end of the roof.

Before him was a wall of glass that rose ten storeys higher than the building he was on.  And it was too far to even attempt the jump.

His left shoulder exploded in pain before he even heard the shots.

And suddenly there was nothing beneath his feet but air.

He was ten storeys up.  Not that long a fall, but long enough to contemplate how it would feel if his Icarus aug malfunctioned again.

It would fucking hurt, if it didn’t outright kill him.  Maybe he’d break a few of those expensive augs they wanted and cut into their take.

Adam Jensen: eternal optimist.  Or spiteful asshole.  One of those.

The comforting yellow nimbus of his landing aug flickered in and out as he reached the ground, partially engaging.  This time he landed upright, at least, though the impact jarred from his feet right up to his skull. 

Nothing broken though.  Rattled as hell, but not broken.

He pushed to his feet, ignoring a couple shady-looking guys giving him the side-eye from the edge of an alley. 

With a glance, he got his bearings.  Barring reinforcements, his pursuers should be above him, and if any were still on the ground (and let’s face it, at least half of them were still on the ground; these weren’t amateurs.) they’d be coming around the corner to his left.

He sprinted to the right.

Just barely made it to the edge of the tall glass building before getting peppered with bullets again.

Yup.  Still on the ground.  His left hand spasmed and twitched as he took two to the upper arm, and he felt something impact the same leg.

Fuckers.  That shit was expensive, and difficult to find someone willing and capable to fix.

They were cutting into their take, all on their own.

The leg still seemed functional, even if his hand wasn’t obeying commands from his brain.

And he was putting distance between himself and his pursuers.

Or so he thought.

The throat shot missed as he turned at the edge of the building, tearing through the side of his neck rather than killing him. 

He screamed in pain, an agonised bellow from between clenched teeth.

Adam felt another bullet impact his side as he collided with the headhunter who’d been lying in wait.

Pain turned to hot fury as he grabbed her by the throat with his one good hand.  Her eyes widened in shock as he slammed her down to the asphalt with a loud _crack_.  A quick twist of his hand, and he snapped her neck.

He’d tried playing nice.  No longer.  So close behind him, she was a guaranteed bullet to the back if he left her alive.

Not anymore.  He glanced up to see if anyone had witnessed the attack.  Caught the edge of movement in a darkened alley, but when nothing else appeared, he figured they were smart enough to run _away_ from the gunfire.  If they’d seen anything, they wouldn’t talk.

Adam reached back and pulled his hood up before checking the wound on his neck.  His hand came away dripping in red, and he could feel the sticky warmth running down his chest.  Didn’t feel like a fatal injury though; a deep graze that furrowed the muscle on the side of his neck but missed all the important bits.  He should be fine if he could get to medical help.

Or his augs miraculously started working again.  If he was lucky, the sentinel would kick in intermittently like the Icarus did. 

It would have to be enough. 

His fingers played under the hem of his shirt to check his side.  Found a nice little hole to the left lower ribcage that strangely didn’t hurt.

So either that one was serious or it had hit a part of him that was mostly synthetic.

There was no point in worrying about it with, at last count, five men still on his ass.  Hand to his neck to stem the blood, he ran across the street, ducking into the darkness of an alley there.

Kept going. 

_One foot in front of the other.  Scan for danger.  Avoid civilians.  Find extraction._

“Eliza?  I could really use you about now.”

Nothing.

Damn but he missed that voice in his ear.  If this was going to be his end, he didn’t want to be alone.

So it wasn’t going to be his end.

He took a zigzagging path away from the hotel.  If he survived this he was going to Paris.  Staying in the most expensive suite he could find with a view of the Eiffel Tower.

A sign caught his eye; simple depiction of a helicopter with an arrow pointing up.

Extraction.

A wide staircase snaked its way up next to a cargo elevator.  With a quick glance over his shoulder, he slunk low to the ground by the concrete railing and made his way up the stairs.

Four flights later he was at the top, and slightly light-headed.  Couldn’t be sure if it was the exertion on malfunctioning limbs, the blood loss, or the head injury.  Or a lovely cocktail of all three.

Crates dotted the platform, offering decent cover.  The place was lit by better lights than the streets below; casting a soothing yellow over the four or so aircraft parked on the various landing pads.

He moved to stand between two crates, blocking sightlines from the stairs behind and the landing pads ahead.

A worn-around-the edges vtol was parked closest, its side door open showing two crates already stowed and secured.  He couldn’t see a pilot, but one must be close.

He engaged his glass shield cloak and hoped to god the damn thing would work long enough.

Just as he reached the door, an ominous _click_ sounded behind his head.

“You have two choices: either you get the fuck away from my bird, or I empty this into the back of your head.”


	3. Phoenix Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik's journey after the Aug Incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for some Malik. I promise I'll get these two in a room together eventually.

_6 months earlier…_

Sarif Industries’ stocks had been struggling ever since the attack that killed their lead scientists.  Right as they were about to announce the breakthrough that would have changed the face of augmentation, and skyrocketed Sarif Industries to the top of the business world.

The company fell the rest of the way, all but cratering in the twenty four hours following the Aug Incident.  ‘Stock dump’ would be too mild a word.  Sarif Industries was done.

The riots in Detroit had started before the Incident and Sarif Industries building was still barricaded from the outside, the staff trapped within.  So when most of the staffs neural implants started feeding back and driving them into a rampage, there was nowhere for them to go but at each other.

The fallout of which Faridah Malik returned to after the long flight home from Singapore.

Only a day later and the mission that had taken her to Hengsha with Jensen seemed like a lifetime ago.  Shot down by an EMP and surrounded by Belltower goons hell-bent on shooting her bird to pieces with her inside it. 

She’d told him to go.  Save himself.

So of course the idiot had stayed.  Held off a dozen heavily-armed and -armoured troops long enough for her to get the bird back up and running.

Saved her life.

He’d gone to Panchaea to try and stop the Aug Incident.  Turn off the signal or die trying.  Must have succeeded too.  A few hours after he arrived, whatever was driving augmented people into a bloodthirsty frenzy just suddenly stopped.

The news was saying that there was nothing left of Panchaea.  Just a lot of floating debris where the massive installation once stood.

And no survivors.

So no sign of either the head of security or her former boss.

She wasn’t sure if she should hold out hope or not.  So much had happened in the last day, and the world would never be the same.  For anyone.

Faridah wasn’t sure one man’s life should matter in all this senseless destruction.

But it did to her.

She didn’t know Adam well; a few conversations and a handful of missions she’d flown with him.  But she’d liked him.  Would like to have gotten to know him better.

Would like to have known him when he wasn’t still hung up on his dead ex-girlfriend.

She set the Sarif Industries VTOL down gently on its landing pad on the building sometime in the afternoon.  The first thing that struck her was how quiet it was. 

There were no bored guards sipping coffee and shooting the shit by the doors to the landing pad.  No scientists loitering over coffee and lack of sleep in the break room.  No hum of computers or advertisements in the grand lobby below.  No footsteps or voices or phones ringing.

There were swaths of blood.

Drag marks.

Grooves carved into doorways where augmented fingers had tried to claw their way in.

Dead bodies.

She had to run to the bathroom, vomiting over and over into the toilet long after there was nothing left to throw up.

All that had saved her from the same fate as some of these people was that she hadn’t had time to swing past a LIMB clinic to get her neural chip updated.  And she was in the air and out of reach when the world went to shit.

She wanted to curl into a ball on the floor and sob until she woke up from this nightmare.

Instead she rose to her feet and walked to the sink.  Rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face.  Stared hard at her reflection, seeing the bags under her bloodshot eyes from not sleeping for the past day.

She wanted to sleep for days.

She wanted to never sleep again.

She about leaped out of her skin when a voice sounded from the doorway.  “I thought no one else survived.”

Wide eyes.  Blonde hair.  Once-white lab coat.  Red hands.  The woman stood there staring dazedly at her while Faridah held a hand over her heart, willing it to stop bounding out of her chest.  She didn’t say, “You scared the crap out of me,” though she desperately wanted to.

Instead she walked to the doorway.  Took the woman by the arm, carefully avoiding the blood as she guided her to the sink.  Gently helped wash the rust-red off every bit of skin it marred.  Peeled the lab coat off and balled it up to throw it in a corner.  Stood stoically patting the woman’s back as she buried her face in Faridah’s neck and sobbed like it was the end of the world.

It was.

After the lab tech had cried herself out, Malik took her to the break room and sat her down with some coffee.  Then searched the rest of the building, room-by-room.

The traumatised lab tech wasn’t the only survivor.  A receptionist from downstairs who’d barricaded herself in an office.  A security guard who someone else had barricaded inside an office where he couldn’t harm anyone.  The destruction inside that room told her he’d tried.  A visiting customer who’d hidden in a heating vent.  And Athene Margoulis, David Sarif’s battle axe of a personal secretary, who’d been alone on the top floor, and who’d never become augmented.  She calmly approached Faridah, cocking her head for a moment before pulling her into a brief and gentle hug.

“I have tendered my resignation,” she said gracefully.  “I am afraid we will no longer be working together, dear.”

Malik didn’t have the heart to tell her that no one would be working together anymore.  Not at this company, anyways.

Faridah rounded them up, cleaned them up as needed, and brought them all to the VTOL.  Flew each of them where they needed to go.  Even after everything that happened, with so many dead, the streets weren’t safe for them to walk home.

She didn’t want to be on the streets, herself.  It was ten blocks from her apartment to the nearest landing pad, and no guarantees that pad wouldn’t be occupied.

So she went to the only place she could think of.

It had its own landing pad and rooftop access.  She knew it was empty.  And that wherever he was, the apartment’s current tenant wouldn’t mind her crashing there.

Strange to sleep in the apartment of a dead man though.

He’d offered to let her stay once, not so long ago.  After the riots started.  Even gave her the access code.  Convenient.

She wished she’d taken him up on it.  Sat with him.  Had a conversation.  Gotten drunk and revealed too much of herself.  Gotten to know him better.

Too late now.

She stumbled through the door, calling for light and closing it behind her with a click that she swore echoed through the cavernous apartment.

It seemed to have no clue that its usual occupant wouldn’t be returning.  Boxes of sugary-sweet cereal lay haphazardly on the kitchen counter.  Cans of beer and half-empty bottles of hard liquor ley strewn around randomly.  Boxes and stacks of books took up most of the space on the floor around the periphery of the place, leaving it with a half-lived in feel, even though she knew he’d been there for over three months.

She poured herself a bowl of cereal and forced the diabetes-inducing sweetness down.  Who knows when she’d eaten last, and she didn’t want to wake up feeling like shit. He even had a vial of neuropozyne in his bathroom, and she took her overdue dose.

Any other day and she’d have slept on the sofa.  But she didn’t want to try and sleep on the long couch in that enormous room.  She wanted a closed door and a gun by the bedside.

Speaking of which…

She found a shotgun by the desk in the bedroom, and a revolver next to a stack of books on the coffee table.  “Thanks Adam,” she said as she picked up the hand gun, checking the cylinder and finding it fully loaded.  Placing it on the bedside table, she proceeded to pull the sheets back over the corner of the mattress, straightening them and pulling the coverlet straight.

The man slept diagonally across the bed.

She moved his lumpy, half mashed pillow to the middle where it belonged, climbed under the blanket, and fell asleep with her clothes on, almost before her head hit that lumpy pillow.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped she’d wake to him standing over her, completely freaked out that she was sleeping in his bed.

She’d make a strange Goldilocks.

That’s not how it happened, though.

She woke up starving, and scarfed down two and a half bowls of terrible cereal because it was the closest thing to food that existed in the apartment.  Wandering the space later, she ran idle fingers over the wooden furniture, dragging uneven lines through the dust there.  She was peculiarly reluctant to leave, and finally pocketed the revolver she’d found the day before.  Might need it for her walk home later.

Something caught her eye as she finally meandered her way to the front door, and she turned to spy the elegant long coat she’d rarely seen him without.  It was thrown carelessly over the back of the couch, and in an odd moment of sentiment, she gathered it up with one hand and took it with her.

If he was still alive out there somewhere, he could damn well track her down and take the thing back.

 

DE

 

She returned the vtol to the landing pad at Sarif Industries two days later, leaving the keys on the CEO’s desk.  Tendered her resignation via email as a courtesy.

Packed up her apartment and sold her furniture.  Without the wages garnered by being David Sarif’s chief pilot, she wouldn’t be able to afford the place for long.  Packed everything she needed in two duffle bags and bought a little beater of a car.  Drove it north across the border.

Ended up in Winnipeg, of all places.

Winnipeg, Manitoba has the distinction of being a city no one wants to be in, so it suited her just fine.  She didn’t want to be anywhere.

Found a little house to rent and didn’t ask why it was available.  There was suddenly a lot of places available.  This one didn’t have any obvious blood stains and came fully furnished, so it was perfect.

She spent her days reading books she found at a used bookshop, avoiding the news, and watching birds flit through the trees in the backyard.

Every couple of days she’d log onto the internet and put feelers out for a job.

David Sarif surfaced a week or so after the Incident.  While Faridah was glad he’d survived, and sent him a brief email to tell him so, she had no interest in watching her old boss on the news.  No matter what spin he tried to put on it, the company that was his namesake was finished.

His response to her email was a glowing letter of recommendation, and a request that she do well for herself.  So that was nice, at least.

She didn’t have a plane anymore.  Didn’t even have access to one.  And that, combined with the fact that she was augmented, meant no one wanted to hire her.

Right now, no one wanted anything to do with Augs.  A fact that may never change.

The thought of never having the rush of flying at her fingertips again was like a punch to the gut, a twist in her chest, and the static of panic in the back of her brain all at once.

After two weeks she was ready to climb the walls and considering the highest-risk jobs she could find, just for shits and giggles.

Then she got an email back from Picus news.  And a video feed interview with Eliza Cassan herself.

She’d found it odd that the face of the company would stoop to hiring pilots for middle-of-the-boonies missions, but she figured the woman was a micro-manager on an ego trip and if she was willing to put Faridah back behind the controls of something that flew, she could be an alien from outer space, for all she cared.

The face of Picus news was pleasant, professional, and courteous, to Faridah’s surprise.  Even if she had that annoying, sing-song-y voice.

And by the end of the conversation, she had a job.

 

DE

 

Her first mission for Picus News was nothing special.  Flying an old beat up rented chopper into a war zone in the middle east, with a cocky young reporter bent on making a name for himself, and an older cameraman with pleasant lines around eyes that held a subtle glint that said he found the situation (or maybe everything in general?) just a little bit amusing.

If Eliza was trying to test her mettle or scare her off or something by sending her on a nothing mission in the middle of nowhere, she’d picked the wrong pilot.  With the deafening sound of the rotors above her and the bird buffeted by crosswinds in the growing dark, she hadn’t felt this alive since…

…since before.

She didn’t dwell on that, instead focusing on keeping the chopper steady and level and low to the ground.  Ignoring the way the cocky young buck kept trying to hit on her through the headset from the back.

 _Not in the mood for it, kid._   Besides, youthful arrogance had never been her type.  She dropped them off at a little camp on the edge of the desert in Turkmenistan.  They didn’t tell her what story they were working on, and she didn’t ask.

She’d never cared for idle chit-chat while she was flying.  Took away from the experience.  Besides, she really didn’t care what their current scoop was.

She lifted back up as soon as she was cleared; Cassan was getting her money’s work out of her new pilot and the rented helicopter.  Faridah was due for another pick up in Ashgabat in the early morning.

A man in a suit was waiting on the landing pad as she arrived.  He flashed his ID and hefted a bag into the back.

There was something about this guy.  A subtle stiffness to his shoulders and the way his eyes would barely meet hers.  The way he tucked that bag up under his feet after he sat down, as though he was afraid someone would take it away from him.

Not to mention he didn’t seem like he was a reporter.  Or had anything to do with Picus at all.

Faridah wondered if she was doing this mission off-books.

It wouldn’t be the last time she’d ask herself that question over the next few weeks.

For every mission where she dropped off a reporter or delivered equipment to a Picus outlet somewhere across the middle east, there was another, deep in the night.  One or two people at most and never carrying more than a single bag or case.  Every last person she took on one of these missions looked at her like they were afraid to be caught doing something illegal.

She’d done this before.  Back in Hengsha before she’d worked for Sarif.  Flying for someone she knew had connections to the criminal Triads.  Not asking questions.  Until she did.  And discovered that by turning a blind eye, she’d gotten a man killed.  Never again.

So one night weeks after starting for Picus, she picked up her fare as per usual.  This one didn’t seem as nervous as some others, but he was carrying one of those damn bags, and didn’t try to make small talk.  Like all the others.

She waited for him to strap in.  Went through her pre-flight checks.  Unbuckled herself and climbed into the cargo area.  Stepped just out of reach of where the man was belted into the rear jump seat.

And aimed her revolver at his head.  “Open the bag,” she ordered.

His hands went up.  Eyes widened.  But he wasn’t opening the bag.

She cocked the gun.  “Last warning.  Either you open the bag or I shoot you and open it myself.”

The man reluctantly dragged it out from under him without letting his gaze leave her.  Slowly dragged the zipper open.  Held the bag open for her to see.

She peered in without moving closer.  The gun didn’t waver and she stayed out of his reach.  Not stupid enough to let him take it from her.  Or try, at least.

A box was inside.  Cardboard and open at the top, showing perfect rows of little vials.  He pulled one out, held it up so she could read the label.

She didn’t really need to read the label.  With her neural augments, she knew a vial of Neuropozyne when she saw one.

He set the vial back in its place.  Zipped the bag closed.  Looked back up at Malik, and she was struck by the clear green of his eyes.  “You know what this is worth.  You going to take it?” he asked evenly.

“That depends on what you’re planning to do with it.  As you said, it’s worth a fortune on the black market.  Is that what I’ve been doing, ferrying around drug runners?”

He chuckled, a mirthless sound.  “I wish.  I worked at a LIMB clinic before the Incident.  Do you know how hard it is to get Neuropozyne now?  They shut down most of the factories!  Closed the clinics.  And there are men, women, _children_ who need this stuff to keep from rejecting their augments.  A very painful, potentially lethal condition for some.  So when I heard from an anonymous benefactor that there was a shipment I could have to distribute, I didn’t ask questions.”

Malik took a step back.  Lowered the gun so it was pointing at the ground between them. 

The man cocked his head.  “You’ve flown deliveries like this before, and you didn’t know?”

She shook her head, short dark hair flipping back and forth with the motion.  “No one bothered to tell me.  Figured I was aiding something nasty.”

“Well you’re not.  So are we going to do this?  Or are you taking away this bit of hope for some good people?”

“I want to see,” she replied.

“Huh?”

“Take me to where you distribute the nupoz.  I want to see.”

He slid the bag back under his feet.  “Okay.  Come with me when we touch down.”

She nodded.  “I’m bringing the gun.  So if you try anything…”

His hands went back up.  “You want to see, so I’ll show you.  No tricks.  I promise.”

“Alright.”  She lowered the gun and moved back to the pilot’s seat.  Out of the corner of her eye he slumped in relief.

She pushed the VTOL a little harder than she would normally, wanting to get this mission over with so she could contact Cassan and ask her what the fuck she thought she was pulling.

Her passenger remained silent in the back for the whole flight, and she was left to her thoughts.  Most of which had to do with strangling the beautiful reporter who’d hired her, when she got the chance.  Faridah did not like being used, however altruistic the goal.  She deserved to know what kind of illegal, dangerous shit she was running.

They set down, and Malik spooled down the engines while the guy ruffled around in the back.  She heard the cargo door open, but he was sitting on the edge with the bag next to him when she glanced back.  Patiently waiting for her.

If their roles had been reversed, she’d have made a break for it.  Wouldn’t have trusted someone who’d already pulled a gun on her.

But he got up as she climbed between the seats.  Grabbed the bag.  Slung it over his shoulder.  Glanced back to make sure she was following.  And moved off like he could care less she was armed and behind him.

She wondered if he had a gun on him.  Or she was walking into an ambush.  Maybe she’d embarrassed him by freaking him out earlier, and he was posturing to make up for it.

The streets they walked were decently well-lit in the early light of morning.  A middle-class residential neighborhood.  He ducked into an alley and she slid a hand over the grip of the gun in her pocket, eyes sharp as she followed him into the dark.

He knocked on a door at the side of the alley, down by the blind end ahead.  A brief wait and the door opened.  Someone out of sight seemed to beckon.  The man with the bag looked back, meeting her eyes.  He cocked his head at the open door and stepped inside.

It took everything she had to leave her hand in her pocket when she climbed the four steps to find herself facing the barrel of a shotgun.  “Who’s this?” the unfamiliar voice behind the gun asked.

A hand appeared out of the darkness, pushing the barrel down.  Whoever was holding the gun didn’t fight it, lowering the weapon.  “She’s the pilot.  She wanted to see.”

A light flicked on in the room, blinding her briefly.  “You sure about this?” the voice behind the gun came from hulk of a man, skin dark as the alley she just left.  With a deep, rumbling voice to match.

Sounded a bit like a man she once knew.  She deliberately pushed the flashback of the last conversation she’d had with Jensen down, focusing instead on the situation at hand.

“Our anonymous benefactor warned me she might get suspicious.  Told me to bring her to the drop if she asked questions.”

“Alright.”  The mountain of a man lowered the shotgun, pointing it neutrally at the ground.

“So,” Malik replied, sliding a sweaty hand off the grip of the revolver and out of her pocket.  “What is this place?”

The two other men and one woman in the room all set their weapons down and sat down as her passenger slung the bag onto the table.  He opened it and proceeded to set a box of vials in front of each of them.  Looking over his shoulder, he explained.  “This stuff is expensive now and hard to come by.  They shut down every factory but one that manufactures it in order to keep the Augs in line.”

Malik nodded.  All information she was well aware of. 

“And governments and criminal organisations seized most of the existing supply.  They’re either holding it in lockdown or charging exorbitant prices for it.  Or both.”  He scowled.  “So the four of us each goes to a different district.  We take this to local mechanics and secret clinics and get it to the people who need it.”

“So some nice person just contacted you one day and gave you the most valuable commodity on the planet?” she asked, skepticism dripping from her voice.

The woman shook her head.  “We were on a message board looking to find sources.  He or she found us through that.”

“We figure it’s some rich guy with a guilt complex and a line on supply,” one of the men around the table added.

“In any case, we’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  The last two times we had to get these from a dead drop and smuggle it back ourselves.  Dangerous trying to sneak this past cops and other Augs willing to take it.”  He assessed her with a level gaze.  “So does this mean you’ll be our pilot in the future?”

Faridah straightened, meeting the eyes of the other five people in the room one by one.  “That depends.  I need to have a conversation with the person who hired me.  I’d like to keep helping, but I don’t like being hired under false pretenses.”

“Well I hope you’re willing to look beyond that.  We could really use the help.”

She nodded.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Now, I should really get back to my bird.”

“I’ll walk you back.”

Faridah really wanted to turn him down, but thought better of it.  He knew this city, these streets.  “Alright.”

He walked back with her in silence, leaving her to her thoughts.  Once they reached the landing pad, he held out a hand.

She took it, returning the handshake.  “I hope to see you again, ma’am.”

“We’ll see.”

He nodded, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that made him look ten years younger.  Then turned and made his way out of sight.

 

DE

 

Malik barely got the VTOL back in the air before sending Cassan an email.  Four words and a signature:

_We need to talk._

_-Malik_

To her shock, the most famous reporter in television called her back four and a half minutes later.

Must be a slow news day.

“You wished to speak to me?” Eliza’s annoyingly polite voice came over Faridah’s infolink.

“You fucking hired me under false pretenses.”  Any thought of this being a civil conversation went right out the window the moment she heard that smug bitch’s voice.  “What was this?  A set-up?  Some sort of fucked up test?”

“I apologise for the deception.  It was necessary in order to…”

“See if I’d turn a blind eye?  If I was willing to play ball?  Well guess what?”

“I wished to know if you were the kind of person I could trust with this,” Eliza interjected.

Her anger deflated in an instant.  “That’s not fair,” Faridah growled out.  “I’m trying to yell at you.”

“The only way to know for sure was to allow you to see.”

“I did.  Tonight’s delivery boy took me to the drop.”

“And what did you think?”

Faridah hit a couple of controls on the VTOL and settled back into her seat.  “I think if you’d told me this is what you wanted me to do in the first place, I’d have agreed to it.  Gladly.”

“I could not take the risk of exposure.”

“Fine.  I get that.  In the future, if you want me to do something not entirely aboveboard, I need to know about it beforehand.”

“Does this mean you wish to remain employed with me?”

Farida blew out a sigh.  “It’s important work and I can’t afford to quit.  I suppose this means we can drop the pretense of my working for Picus?  Don’t think I haven’t noticed that not once have you put me behind the controls of a plane with the company logo on it.”

“We can.”  There was an odd pause on the line, as though Cassan was contemplating something.  “Malik, how much do you know about me?”

Not much.  “You’re a famous news reporter.”  Who had an irritating voice.  No one should sound that happy all the time.  It was unnatural.

“You were the pilot who flew the head of security of Sarif Industries to meet me, were you not?” asked Eliza.

“I was.”

“Did Adam Jensen tell you anything about me, after?”  Something caught in her chest at hearing her dead friend’s name.

“No.  He usually didn’t go into detail on missions with me.”

“What I am about to tell you is known by only a handful of people in the world.  Most of those would have you killed if they knew you know.”

“Do I have a choice to not be told?”

“Of course,” Eliza replied politely.

“And Adam knew this?”

“If you are referring to Jensen, then yes.”

“Okay then.  Tell me.”

“Have you ever noticed anything… odd… about me?” Eliza queried.

“Your voice is too even.  It doesn’t sound real.”  Shit.  Did she say that out loud?

“An astute observation.”

What.  Shouldn’t she be insulted?

“I have been working on altering my programming to correct that flaw.”

Wait… programming?  Shit.  That explained a _lot_.  “You’re an AI?”

“The most advanced and complex Artificial Intelligence in the world,” she said proudly.  “Created by the same people who made the Aug Incident possible, and who have me using my abilities to manipulate the public through the news.”

“So you’re working behind the scenes to undermine the things they make you say in front of the camera.”

Eliza remained silent for long enough that Faridah nearly asked if they’d lost the connection.  “I... yes.  I did not expect you to be so astute.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises,” Faridah mumbled under her breath.

“And as you know, I want your help.”

“Well you’ve already hired me, and as far as what you’ve told me, I’m in.  And your secret’s safe with me.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a name behind a keyboard.  And that name is not Cassan.”

“Good.  Then we can start in earnest.”

Well.  This could be fun.

 

DE

 

Faridah’s first mission was to make a pick-up in person, without a plane.  Boring.  Not really what she’d signed up for.  But she was willing to see what Eliza was up to, so she went along.  She paid the autocab fare and got out in front of one of a dozen identical warehouses in the industrial district of Philadelphia.

Double-checking the address, she walked up to the rusty man-door.  Hit the ancient mechanical bell when she found it locked.  Stood around staring at the other boring old warehouses while she waited for some person to bring her something so she could bloody well get back behind the controls and get flying again.

Finally some dirty grease monkey opened the door.  Eyed her warily.  “ID,” he demanded with his hand out.

She dug it out of one of her flight suit’s many pockets.  Handed it over.  He squinted at it, reading it carefully.  Then broke into a grin as he handed it back.  “C’mon back,” he said over his shoulder, already leading further into the building.  “Close the door behind you.”

She did as he asked, jogging to catch up after pulling the door closed.  Dust motes filtered down through the faded sunlight that managed to seep its way through the filthy line of windows high on the wall behind her.  They passed trucks and cars in various states of disassembly and repair, the sound of power tools loud and echoing in the giant tin can.  The handful of men and women working on the vehicles didn’t acknowledge their existence.

A compressor rattled in the back corner, loud despite the insulation wrapped around it, and a grinder through sparks that her escort walked through, completely ignored.  Malik followed on his heels.

This…was not what she had been expecting.  Something told her she wasn’t picking up a shipment of Neuropozyne.  He stopped at a man-door in the galvanized wall.  Punched in a code in a keypad.  Curious.  Whatever they kept on the other side was valuable in a way that all the vehicles on this side weren’t.

He held the door open and waved her past him.  They walked shoulder-to-shoulder down a short hallway that led into a… landing pad? 

Inside the building.  She glanced up at the ceiling, noticing the retractable door above.  Nice.

“Don’t often get custom jobs like this.  Was a helluva pleasure to build, too.  A challenge to get done in a month, but I managed it.”

Faridah eyed the VTOL parked on the raised landing platform.  “It’s nice.  Where’s the package I’m supposed to pick up?”

He set his hands gently on her shoulders, turned her towards the VTOL, and gave her a little push.  “That’s your package, ma’am.”  She could hear the smile in his voice.

“Wait… what?”

“Your boss had this commissioned for you.  Must think you’re a hell of a pilot.  Might not look like much, but she’s a lot tougher and a lot faster than she looks.”  He led the way up the steps to the slate-grey bird, and she followed in a daze.

“You’ll notice she’s a bit rusty.  All cosmetic.  Built expensive to look cheap.  No one’s going to give this girl a second look.  She’ll be real easy to dismiss.”  He turned a feral grin on Malik, stroking a hand over the curved hull.  “But damn hard to take down, and even harder to catch.”

He knocked on the hull.  “Armor plating.  Never know it to look at it though.”

“Somebody planning to get me shot at?” she asked.

The mechanic shrugged.  “If they do shoot at you, they’re in for a rude awakening.”

Well, the shooting had been known to happen.  Better safe than sorry.  “Campbell, by the way.”  The hand he held out was surprisingly clean given the state of his coveralls, though his nailbeds were grease-stained.

She clasped hands with him.  “Malik.  Good to meet you.”

“Let me show you around your new bird.”

He spent fifteen minutes showing her around, rattling off engine specs and custom modifications.  Opened the small secret compartments in the cargo hold, artfully hidden behind the surface plating.  Showed her the fold down jump seats in the back, sturdy enough to survive significant impact.  Even under the hood, the surface parts looked old and worn.  All for show.  The whole thing was designed to look like an older, slower ship.

Nothing to see here.  “Somebody put a lot of planning and effort into this,” she commented as he finished the tour.

“The buyer had a few suggestions.  I ran with them, and added a few of my own down similar lines.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Malik replied.

He nodded.  “Before you take possession, anything you need changed?”

It was perfect.  Faridah couldn’t think of a thing to improve it.  Except…

“Can you paint a name on it?”

“Got one picked out already?”

She nodded.  “Phoenix.  We can rise up from the ashes together.”  She was already in love.

He smiled.  “If you don’t have to be anywhere for a few hours, I can do it now.”

“Please,” she replied.

The time passed in a blur as she familiarised herself with every nuance of her new bird while he freehand painted the name on the left side, just in front of the cargo door.

She was lying on her back checking out the wiring under the main console when he appeared at the open cargo door.  “All done.  Wanna see?”

She slid out, accepting his offered hand out.  There on the side of her new VTOL, _Phoenix_ was emblazoned in elegant red-orange script.  Beneath it, he had free-handed a bird of flame in red, orange, and yellow.  It looked so real it could have flown off on its own.

“This entire thing is a goddamned work of art.”

Later after a test flight where Faridah discovered _Phoenix_ handled smoother and faster than any bird she’d ever flown, she called Cassan.

“If you’d led with the VTOL, you might have saved yourself some trouble.”

“I did not think you would be amenable to bribery.”

“For this, I might have made an exception.”

“She is yours, Malik.  Licensed and registered.  You are both contracted to a shell company that I control.  Anyone who looks into it will simply find a trail of businesses that lead nowhere, with a front that looks authentic.  If you find yourself in trouble with police, you could easily claim that you thought the company was legitimate.”

“Thanks, Eliza.  For everything.”

“You are welcome, though my intentions were not entirely altruistic.”

“Understood.  Let’s get to work.”

A few days later she was back home for a couple of days, and she noticed a leather trench coat thrown over the back of a chair.  She’d had the intention of getting it tailored for herself but she was more of a bomber jacket girl, and black wasn’t really her color.  The vampire look was never her thing. 

She brought it to _Phoenix_ , draping it over the back of her flight seat.  Made her feel like he was watching over her.  She smiled at the thought.

Pretty often, actually.

 

DE

 

Faridah flew delivery missions a few times a week, all over the world.  With her own bird, she was just a fuel-up and flight plan away from any place on earth.  Sometimes she’d deliver personnel; doctors or mechanics or scientists.  Others she’d take a shipment of nupoz on her own.  Others she’d deliver augments or other cargo.  She never bothered to ask Cassan where any of this came from.  It didn’t matter, and she knew how deep the enigmatic AI’s connections ran.

Mostly, she was just glad to be back in the air.

Every once in a while though, she’d get sent to a location at the wrong time and would end up cooling her heels for hours while someone somewhere scrambled to get the shipment together due to some sort of misunderstanding.

As a pilot, she was used to waiting around. Delays were common, and Sarif tended to change his plans on the spur of the moment. But she'd become accustomed to running on Eliza's tight schedule. And with less-than legal cargo, the less time she spent on the ground, the better.

Faridah found it odd, but the shipments always arrived… eventually.  And Eliza did pay well.  So she didn’t complain.  Yet.

It was another one of those missions-gone-slightly wrong. She was leaned against a crate waiting around even though the cargo was already stored and ready to go.  But Eliza had asked her to wait.  No explanation.  Maybe there was a doctor or something that needed to tag along last-minute.  Whatever it was, it was keeping Malik from the sky, and was therefore to be avoided.

“Cassan?  Can I go yet?” she subvocalized, putting as much of her annoyance as she could muster into the phrase.

No response.

“Eliza.  You read?”

Nothing.  No, static.  Faridah moved over to the railing where there were better lines of sight, just in case it was something in one of the other planes or cargo crates that was causing the interference.  Checked other channels.  All static.

Not a good sign.

Time to bug out.  She could always return later for whatever Cassan needed.

She stepped around a crate in time to see someone hunched and shuffling towards the open door of _Phoenix._

She pulled out her revolver, aiming and cocking it.

“You have two choices: either you get the fuck away from my bird, or I empty this into the back of your head.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 6000 words just to get back to where we just left. Promise kept! Please leave a comment if you liked it.


	4. I Can Explain...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik and Jensen, finally together, though not under the happiest of circumstances. Other familiar faces may appear as well...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Drake for beta reading and giving me a few suggestions to improve the chapter. Not to mention egging me on to a pace I've never written at before.

He froze.  Pulled his right hand from where it stemmed the blood at his neck, and the pain hit sharp and sudden at the lack of pressure.  Held it up to show he wasn’t armed, and it glinted wet and red.  His left arm still hung dead at his side.  God, but he knew that voice.  Relief hit him so hard his knees wanted to buckle.  “Revolver never seemed like your style.  Would have taken you for a machine pistol kind of woman.”

Either her ears were deceiving her or she was pointing a gun at a ghost. The gun shook in her hand.  “Pull the hood down and turn around.  Slowly.”

Her aim was steady and true by the time he was facing her.  She staggered a step back, sucking a shuddering breath between her teeth.  “I don’t… How…?  I thought you were dead.”  The revolver’s barrel, which had started to lower with each statement, rose up and pointed at his face.  “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t dead!”

His hand came back up to press into his neck and for the first time she noticed the blood.  “What the hell happened to you?”

Adam’s mirror shades slid back, revealing eyes that looked _exhausted._   “Look, Malik, can we have this conversation in the air?  The people who did this are still out there.”

Snapping out of her daze in an instant, she nodded, putting the safety back on and sliding the gun into her pocket.  “Get in.”

He complied, dripping blood onto her cargo deck as he climbed into the co-pilot’s seat.  She slid the door closed behind her and started flicking switches on the console before she even sat down.  “Strap in,” she commanded without looking at him.  He glanced around him at the seatbelt, noting it was a five-point harness.  Chuckled mirthlessly. 

“I can’t.  Left arm won’t work.” 

She swore under her breath as the bird hummed to life.  “I’ll get to that when we’re in the air,” she yelled over the sound of the turbines winding up.  Grabbing the two headsets from the dash, she put one on his head, the second on her own.

Adam was a little alarmed at the way she strapped herself in, pulling the belts tight around her.  “Hang on.”

He was already hanging on.  To his blood.  Which was doing a damn fine job of vacating his body.  He braced his feet against the floor instead, careful not to push too hard and buckle the surface plating.

The VTOL raised up in the air gracefully and Adam peered out the tinted glass at the nose as four black-armoured men reached the top of the stairs below.  “We’ve got company,” he warned Malik as one ran out onto the landing pad below them, staring at the ground.

The man looked up, shouted something, and started shooting.  “Incoming!” Adam barked.

The bullets pinged off the hull beneath him, and he stared down, a little surprised that he didn’t appear to have any extra holes.

“Armor plating,” Malik answered his unasked question.  “Remind me to thank Cassan.”  They lifted up and out of range, and sped away into the night.

Adam’s head snapped around.  “You’re working for Eliza?”

“With, not for,” she corrected him, still laser-focused on the controls.  “Wait… are you?”  She cast a glance in his direction.  “Sonofabitch.  _That’s_ why I’ve had all those missions where I ended up sitting around doing nothing for hours.  You think it’s a coincidence I just happened to be here when you were in trouble?  You were running a mission tonight, weren’t you.”

“Supposed to,” he replied.  “Headhunters got to me before then.”

Well.  That explained the blood.

Her infolink buzzed to life.  “Malik.  Malik, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Cassan.  Got nervous when I couldn’t reach you and decided to bug out.”

“You have to go back.”  An edge of panic tinged the AI’s usually-placid voice.

“Relax.  Our mutual friend is onboard.  Currently bleeding all over my ship.”  She turned to glare at the offending party.  “You’re cleaning that up, by the way.”

“Why can’t I reach him?”

Malik toned down the glare as she turned on the autopilot and transferred Eliza from her infolink to the bird’s comm.  “Why don’t you ask him?”  She unbuckled herself as they spoke.

“Adam?”

“I’m here.”

Malik listened in silence as she gently pulled his hand from his wound.  Breath hissed between her teeth as she assessed the sticky red mess.  It looked worse than it was.  She hoped.  Pressing his hand back into place, she whispered, “I’ll get the first aid kit from the back.”

He nodded.  “Why can’t I reach your internal comm?” Eliza asked.

“They hit me with something that fried some of my augs.  Icarus, cloak.  Pretty sure the Sentinel’s not working, judging from all the blood,” he joked.  “Must have taken out the comms too.  I thought that was the jammer.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice softer.

“Not getting shot at, so that’s nice.  Still bleeding though.”

“Cassan, we need to get him to a hospital,” Malik cut in as she opened the oversize first aid kit on the pilot’s seat.  She peeled open three of the largest gauze pads, stacked them together, and moved Adam’s hand out of the way to press them to the side of his neck.  Pressed his hand back to hold them there.

“You hit anywhere else?”

He nodded.  “Eliza, I have to let you go.  I need to call in a favour from Sarif.”

“May I monitor your call?”

“Ask Faridah.  It’s her frequency.”

“Go ahead,” Malik replied.

“Shit.  I don’t have access without my infolink,” Adam said as Malik pulled out a pair of scissors and alarmingly came at his torso.

She chuckled as he flinched back.  “Take it easy, Spyboy.  Just cutting this monstrosity so I can check you over.”  He relaxed as she gently lifted the hem of the hoodie and started cutting it straight up the middle.

The shirt was wet against her hand, and she tried not to think of the implications of that.  Peeling it back, she saw two more wounds.  The one high up on his shoulder was oozing red, and half his chest was stained with his blood.  The one in his ribs was only red around the edge of his skin, and leaked a thick greyish liquid.  “Wait.”  Faridah’s brown eyes met his gold ones from inches away.  “Fucking Sarif knew?”

“We got out of Panchaea together.”

“Motherfucker.  I’ll kill him too.  Cassan.  Do you have a way to get ahold of David Sarif?”

“Patching you through.”

The link pinged a couple of times before he answered.  “Hello?  Who is this?  How did you get this frequency?”

“I am going to kick your ass, Sarif.  But later.  Right now…”

“Faridah?”

“Yes, it’s me.”  Her tone brooked no argument.  “I have an undead mutual friend here who’s gonna become re-dead if we don’t get him a doctor and a mechanic ASAP.”

“Adam?”

“Here.”  He had to stifle the urge to call him ‘boss’.  Old habit.  “You know how you said to call you if I ever need anything?”

“Yeah, son.”

“Well I’ve got a few bullet holes in me, my left arm won’t work, and none of my secondary augments will function.  Anything you can do?”

“Where are you?”

Adam looked to Faridah, who had pulled the edges of his shirt apart and was bandaging his shoulder.  “Not far out of New York city.”

“How fast can you be in Boston?”

“Half hour.  Forty-five minutes, tops.”

“Sending you co-ordinates.  I can have a doctor waiting for you.”

Malik moved to the controls, punching the new destination into the autopilot.

“Sarif?” Adam said.  “They hit me with something computerised that fucked up my augments.  I think it might be a virus that’s messing with the augs.”

“I’ll try and find a programmer as well.”

“Thanks.”

“Hang in there.”  The line went dead.

Adam was pale now, and trembling.  “You alright?” she asked as she cleaned her hands with a disinfecting wet wipe.

“Cold.” He admitted.

She reached around him, gently pulling the cut edges of the hoodie closed over his chest and drawing the seat belt straps around him.  Clipped him in now that she was done patching him up.  Pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, and found the skin there damp and clammy.

“Here,” she said softly, pulling something from the back of her seat and draping it over him, tucking it around his shoulders.

He looked down at a familiar black-and-gold pattern.  “Is that… my coat?”

When she didn’t respond, he asked further.  “Malik, why do you have my coat.”

She closed up the first aid kit, setting it on the floor between their seats.  Sat down and buckled herself back in.  Idly fiddled with a couple of switches.  Pulled a revolver out of her pocket and slid it into the holster under the console.  “This too,” she said, not answering his question.

He wanted to reach across the space between them and touch her hand.  But that was the side with the dead arm.  Fucking inconvenient.  Then again, maybe she’d deck him for it anyways.

Didn’t seem particularly happy with him right now.  Not that he blamed her.

“After the Aug Incident, I flew home to Detroit.  Helped get the surviving staff out of the SI building.  But I didn’t want to stay there with the bodies.”  He winced in sympathy.  “It wasn’t safe on the streets to walk home and…”

“There’s a landing pad on my building and you had my access code.”  It did something strange to his insides, thinking of her there in his apartment.

“I thought you were dead.  By that time there was nothing left of Panchaea and no sign of survivors.  And after that day, I had no hope left in me.  For anything.  I took the gun because I needed protection for the walk home.”

“And the coat?”  Its weight was comforting around him, the smell familiar yet strange.  His eyes drifted closed as the pleasant drone of the engines melted his bones and relaxed his shoulders.

“Jensen!”

The bark of sound jerked him awake and everything just _hurt_.  “What?” he snapped, pressing his hand back to his neck.

“So help me, if you die I will bring you back just so I can strangle you myself.”

“It hurt less when I was sleeping,” he grumbled.

“Yeah but if you’re talking you’re not dead.  Fall asleep again and I’ll _slap_ you awake.” 

He glared.  “Were you this bitchy when you worked for Sarif?”

“Damn straight I was and don’t think you won’t pay for that comment later.”

“Not sure I’ll make it to later.”  Exhaustion pulled at him, threatening to drag him back under.

“Don’t you fucking dare.  You and I need to have a heart-to-heart.  And about six arguments.”

“So much to live for,” he replied drily.

“We’re almost there.  Just a few more minutes.”

“How is he?” a subdued female voice came on the line, granting him reprieve from Malik’s wrath.

“Still here, Eliza,” his reply came out clumsy, like he couldn’t get his mouth to work.

“We’re almost to the coordinates Cassan.  Once we get to a doctor he should be okay.”  When did she get to the point of comforting platitudes for artificial intelligences?

She called Sarif, quickly giving him the rundown on Adam’s injuries and an ETA of ten minutes.

Adam may well have come back from the dead just to die in front of her.  If she ever needed evidence that life wasn’t fair, this was it.  A sudden moisture appeared in her eyes and she swiped a sleeve across her cheek.

“Don’t do that.”  His voice was barely audible over the engines, even through the headset.  She glanced over to see that his eyes were on her.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I cried over you, jackass.”

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond, taking over from the autopilot as she brought the VTOL in for landing on the rooftop balcony.  Sarif waved from the building, standing next to a woman in a lab coat, with a wheeled stretcher between them.  Setting _Phoenix_ down gently, she quickly shut the bird down while the two on the ground got the co-pilot’s door open and the woman began her assessment, tossing Adam’s long coat on the floor between the seats.

“Please tell me you have blood,” Malik said, meeting the doctor’s eyes over Adam’s still form.  “He’s lost a lot.”

The woman nodded.  “We have his blood type on file.  Give me a hand?” she said over her shoulder.  Faridah quickly unsnapped his restraints, letting the other two take him.

Sarif met her eyes across Adam’s too-still form.  “I found a programmer.  Any way you have time to pick someone up in Detroit?”

“Give me the co-ordinates.”

“I’ll patch your frequency through to Francis.”

They pulled him onto the stretcher and she couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or just cooperating exceptionally well.  He lay out black and red on the white sheet as they sped him through the door and inside. 

She stared at the closed door for longer than she realised, before snapping back to present.  Climbing back behind _Phoenix_ ’s controls, she took back to the sky. 

She dimmed the lights in the cockpit and leaned back as she stared sightlessly out the window.  God, what a fucking day.  Adam was alive.  It should make her happy, but right now it just hurt.  The knowledge that he wanted her to believe he was dead.  That he was okay with her mourning him.  Or worse: maybe he’d thought she wouldn’t care.

And now he was maybe-dying all over again and she wanted to rage and scream and put her arms around him and hold on until she finally believed this was real.

The crumpled jacket on the floor next to her, the rusty-looking smudges on the co-pilot’s seat and belts, and the little pools of red speckled on the floor were pretty compelling evidence that this wasn’t a dream. 

Maybe a nightmare, but a living one, in any case.

She rolled her shoulders, sitting straighter and strapping herself in.  She was a pilot, dammit, and she would focus when at the helm.  The familiar hum of her bird surrounded her as she closed her eyes and ran her hands over the controls, letting the familiarity of the raised buttons and switches soothe her jagged nerves.

Feeling like herself again, she called Pritchard.

“Malik.  That you?”

Of course it was her.  No way a hacker like him would even answer if he didn’t already have the social security number and banking information of the person on the other end.

“Hey Pritchard.  What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh, not much,” he sneered.  “Saving the world.  Rescuing an old co-worker.  You?”

“Same,” she replied.  “ETA twenty minutes.  You ready to go?”

“Packed and waiting.”

True to his word, he was on the landing pad when she arrived, bag at his feet, another slung across his chest, and a tablet tucked under his arm.  He climbed in the cargo door and left the bags in the back.

“I’ll… sit back here,” he said once he saw the mess Adam had made of the front seat.

Faridah wordlessly handed him a headset.

He waited until they were back in the air.  “How is he?”

“The bullets didn’t seem to hit anything important, but he’s lost a lot of blood.  Sentinel Rx is offline, as well as most of his secondary systems.  He thinks the headhunters tagged him with some sort of virus.”

Pritchard swore under his breath.  “I’ve seen some of that code.  Nasty stuff.”

“Well I’m guessing you’ll have to yard that out before we can get him back to a hundred percent.”

“’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

They kept up the chatter as she flew, uncharacteristic of either of them.

“Did you know?” she finally asked as the lights of Boston came into view.

“Know what?”

“That he survived Panchaea.”

“Not at first.  Then a few months later someone starts hitting facilities with certain connections.  Very low-key, under the radar stuff.  I’ve seen the digital aftermath of a few of his missions.  Recognised the signs.  I’ve suspected he was alive for months now.”

“And he never contacted you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Jensen and I aren’t close.  Unless he needed a hacker, he’d have no reason to.”

Faridah chuckled to herself.  Yeah there was no popular belief that Pritchard was close to anyone.  She’d met snugglier cactus.

“You didn’t know.”  The words came out quiet over the headset, a breathed revelation.  “I’m sorry.  If he hadn’t been trying so hard to be a ghost, I’d have passed it along.”

“No,” she replied, absolving Pritchard.  “It was his choice.”

“He must have had his reasons.”  She wondered if he was trying to defend Adam or comfort her.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

They both kept to their own thoughts for the remainder of the trip.

As she began the landing sequence, she called back to him, “Go on in once we get there.  I wouldn’t be any good inside and I need to get this thing cleaned up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.  Get in there and find out what’s wrong with Adam’s augs.  I’ll be in, in a bit.”

He was out the door almost before they touched down.

She went through the process of shutting _Phoenix_ down, habit carrying her through the motions.  Once that was done, she climbed into the back and pulled the cleaning supplies out of a cabinet.

She’d cleaned plenty of things out of her planes over the years; grease, fuel, rust, mud, and a myriad of other fluids and debris.  Blood was thankfully a rare addition to that list.

She did her level best to pretend that this was just a wretched mess of grease instead of the lifeblood of a friend.  Partially succeeded.  Technically fresh blood is easier to clean than grease.  By the time she was done, the only sign that someone had bled all over was the wet spot high up on the seat.  But it was clear-wet, instead of red-wet.  Improvement.

After stowing the cleaning supplies, rehanging Adam's coat over the back of her seat (inside out. It did have blood on it.) and closing the cargo door behind her, she stood with her back to the bird.  Wiped her hands on her flight suit.  Stared at the dark wooden door that led inside like it was a fucking guillotine.

Took a long breath and called herself a coward before marching towards that door and facing what lay beyond.

The dark wood panelling inside was lit by warm yellow diffusing from the corner seams along the wall above and below.  A handful of doors lined the long hall at irregular intervals, and there was the impression of a larger, brighter space down at the other end.

The place was eerily silent; if she hadn’t already seen four people go through that door before her, she would have believed it empty.  She’d just made the decision to check out the room at the end when a door ahead and to her right opened.

“Are you Malik?” a young woman in scrubs asked, with the faint lilt of an East Indian accent.  She nodded.  “I’m Jasminder.  I used to work at a LIMB clinic.  I’ve been assisting Dr. Marcovic.  This way.”

She led down another short hallway to a sanitary-white room.  Adam lay out on a stretcher in the middle of the room, inclined at the head.  He was nearly as pale as the white sheet that covered him from mid-chest down.  A large bandage covered the side of his neck, another on his shoulder.

A pole hung IV bags out of which tubes snaked down into Adam’s neck on the opposite side from the bandage, one dark red and the other clear.  The woman in the lab coat, presumably Dr. Marcovic, stood at a monitor by the wall, touching display screens and typing.  Pritchard sat in a chair by the head of the bed, a cable stretching from his laptop to one of the ports in Adam’s chest.

And Sarif… was in the process of removing Adam’s left arm.

She had been planning on asking how Adam was, but the words disappeared in a blaze of fury.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” she yelled, striding across the room to grab David’s arm, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“This arm’s irreparable.  I’m removing it now to save time later,” he replied evenly, staring down at her hand on his bicep before meeting her eyes.  “It’s just dead weight.  I thought he’d be more comfortable without it.”

She let go, throwing her hands in the air.  “You don’t just _take someone’s arm_ because you find it inconvenient!  You don’t think he’ll find it traumatic to wake up and just have it not there anymore?”

Sarif looked back and forth between Adam’s still form and Faridah’s trembling one.  Her eyes flashed and her mouth moved as she tested the next words to launch at him.

“I hadn’t considered that.”  The asshole had the nerve to sound contrite.

Faridah caught the doctor’s expression out of the corner of her eye, kind of a smug smile.  Was that… approval she saw as she met the woman’s gaze for an instant?  The doctor nodded as though egging her on.

“Well maybe you should in the future!  Do the words ‘bodily autonomy’ mean anything to you?  Sure, the arm needs to be replaced, but you could, you know _talk to him about it, let him make the decision after he’s awake!_ ”

She glared at the doctor.  “He’s not allowed to make medical decisions on Adam’s behalf anymore.”  She pointed accusingly at Sarif. “If we have to do it by committee, fine, but he’s not making unilateral decisions again.  I will shoot every person in this room before I let that happen.”

The doctor stared back at her with a mixture of shock and admiration.  Sarif put his hands up and backed away. The damage was done in any case; the detached arm rolled and clattered to the floor, leaving the black ports on Adam’s shoulder looking strangely shrunken and bereft.  The nurse stood by silently and Pritchard looked on with one eyebrow raised as though to say _I had nothing to do with this.  Why threaten to shoot me?_

“I second that,” a faint voice rasped out from the middle of the room. The argument was all but forgotten as everyone turned to Adam, whose exhausted eyes were open and glaring daggers at Sarif.

The doctor ran to his side, checking his vitals.  Adam’s gaze shifted to Marcovic.  “No committee though,” he added.  “Just Malik.  She can be my…”

“…medical proxy,” the doctor finished for him.  Adam nodded, swallowing.  She raised an arm without looking away from her patient and the nurse brought a cup of water with a straw. 

Faridah averted her gaze as he had to be helped to drink.  She couldn’t stand seeing him this helpless.

After avoiding looking at him for as long as she could, her eyes returned to find him studying her.  “Why me?” she asked softly.

“Did you know that after the attack, I only needed my left arm and chest cavity replaced?”

She shook her head.  She knew he’d needed extensive augmentation to save his life, but where was he going with this?

“He was my proxy then, because of my employment agreement.”  Sarif was edging away from Adam, and Dr. Marcovic had gone statue-stiff.

“And because of that,” his voice grew stronger, louder as he went, “ _He_ ,” his gaze pinned Sarif to the wall, “ordered _her_ ,” now he was looking at the doctor, “To cut off my right arm, and both legs.  None of which were medically necessary.”

Revelation done, his head collapsed back onto the bed, eyes closing as he drew in a long, shuddering breath.

Malik’s hand was over her mouth and she had no idea when or how it got there.  Tears stung the back of her eyes and her chest was so tight she could barely draw breath.  Finally she rounded on her former boss, hand dropping to fist at her side.  “You _bastard_!” finally managed to claw its way out of her throat.

Sarif looked like he was preparing to flee.

Which was smart, because right now it was taking every ounce of her self-control to keep from tearing his throat out with her bare hands.

A chuckle sounded, gravelly and deep.  Faridah’s head snapped around to find Adam… smiling?

His remaining hand raised off the sheet, beckoning.  “That’s why you.” 

As she took fumbling, confused steps to his side, he turned to the doctor.  “I don’t blame you,” he said.  “You were in a bad position from the start, and you advocated for me later.  Thank you for that.”

Dr. Marcovic swiped a hand over one eye and moved back to her monitor by the wall.

Pritchard blinked twice, shrugged, and went back to clacking away on his laptop.

“Didn’t expect _you_.  I didn’t know you cared, Francis,” Adam said as Faridah slid her hand into his.  He closed his fingers around hers carefully, gently.

“Yeah well I had nothing better to do,” Pritchard replied without looking up.

In emotionally stunted speak, Faridah was pretty sure that was the equivalent of _I love you_.  Rolling her eyes, she shifted to perch a hip next to where their hands linked.  “You look like death,” she said.

“Feel slightly better than that, thanks to you.”

She felt like she should be doing some stupid girlfriend-y thing like brushing his hair back from his forehead but the handholding was literally the closest they’d ever been physically and that was weird enough, thanks.

Nice though.

“I’m… glad you’re not dead.”

A thousand unspoken things boiled behind his eyes but his blinks were growing longer and longer and his hand relaxed in hers.  The doctor came around and set a hand gently on her shoulder.  “He should rest,” she said.

Malik nodded, throwing one last look back at Adam, who seemed well on his way to sleeping, before leaving the room.

Pritchard caught up with her in the hallway.  “Are you alright?” he asked.  “Things got a little… intense back there.”

“It’s been a long day,” she admitted.  “I’ll be fine.”

“Well.  If you need someone to talk to.”  He patted her shoulder awkwardly, and she grinned in response.

“I’ll find someone else.”

Relief emptied his lungs in a whoosh.  “Thanks for that.”

“I appreciate the offer, though.”

It turned out the bright area at the end of the hall was an open space kitchen that lent a view to the lower floor, with a wrought iron staircase that curled its way down to the living area below.  Sarif stood by the floor-to ceiling windows, staring out with a drink in his hand.  Turning slightly as he heard their approach, he eyed Malik warily.  “Look…”

She slashed a hand through the air, cutting him off.  “I don’t want to hear it.  As pissed as I am at you, this is Adam’s life.  If he can forgive you, or at least be willing to accept help from you, I can be civil while I have to.”

His shoulders slumped.  “Don’t expect any more than that,” she warned.

“Will you be staying?”

“If I can.  I can give him a ride to wherever he needs when he’s ready to get out of here.”  In for the long haul.  She was half-considering planting a tracker and stalking him for his own good.

Come to think of it, she’d bet someone already had.  “I need to go make a call,” she said, leaving the room the way she’d come.

She waited until she was inside _Phoenix_ with the door closed behind her before activating her infolink, not trusting Sarif to not have his place bugged.  “Cassan.  You there?”

“I am here, Malik.  How is he?”

“Still with us.  They gave him some blood and patched him up.  He was talking for a bit but he’s asleep again.”

“This is good.  I was worried for him.”

“Me too, Eliza.”

“If you had not been there, he may not have survived.”

“Is that your subtle way of reminding me that manipulating me was a good thing?”  Malik opened a panel in the back wall of the cargo area, pulling out the bag she kept there.

“Perhaps not so subtle.”

“Look, I am still pissed at you.  But it’s not your fault.  You were doing your best to keep Jensen safe while not letting his secret out.  So don’t worry about it.”

“Would you be amenable to working with him in the future?”

Amenable?  She’d been considering stalking him ten minutes ago.  The man needed _someone_ willing to save him from his own death wish.

“Only if he wants it.  No more sneaking.  For either of us.  And I’m getting hazard pay.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  If she didn’t know better, Faridah would think the AI was laughing at her.

“Are emails okay to keep you updated?”

“Yes, and have Adam contact me when he is able.”

“Will-do.  Is it okay if I stay here while he recovers?”

“Yes.  I can arrange for another pilot to cover your smuggling runs.”

“Thanks, Cassan.”

“No, Malik.  Thank you.  My access to information is invaluable, but it is not the same as having a person there, in situations like these.”

“I wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for you.  You had his back in the way you could.”

“I did try.”

“You did.  You did good.”

“Thank you.  Cassan out.”

Faridah unzipped the bag, tossing the revolver inside and zipping it back in with her couple-days’ worth of clothes and headed back inside.

The condo was massive; two levels and multiple bedrooms.  Even a few offices.  It seemed that David had purchased it with the intention of converting it to a high-end augmentation spa for the uber-rich.  He must have bought it privately or through a shell company to not have lost it in the fall of Sarif Industries. 

In any case, he’d never gotten around to filling it with gaudy furniture or replacing the white kitchen with the black-and-gold he seemed to love.  David explained that the surgical suite had been fully built to cater to the higher-end clients who still needed maintenance.  The doctor and nurse lived there full-time so they were always on-hand for emergencies.

They did research most of the time, in the labs on the lower floor.

Faridah got the bedroom closest to the landing pad, a couple doors down and across the hall from the operating room.

It had a large platform bed in the middle of the room, a couple of overstuffed chairs next to the window that looked out on the balcony that held the landing pad, a desk, and a wooden wardrobe against the wall by the bed.

The room had its own bathroom with separate bath and shower.  She flung the bag of clothes on one of the chairs, pulling it open to drag out a tank top and yoga pants.

Double-checking that the door was locked and setting the shutter controls to closed, she peeled out of her clothes, leaving a trail of them on her way to the bathroom.  Faridah took her time under the warm spray, letting it wash the stress of the day down the drain.  It was a long time after she felt clean that she climbed back out, wrapping herself in one of the giant soft towels hanging on the towel rack.

So this is how the other half lived.

She tussled her hair with the towel, letting it air-dry even though she knew that would leave it an unruly spiked mess.  There was no one to impress here.  Forgoing the bra, she pulled on the soft shirt and pale coral yoga pants.  Then padded out to the kitchen on bare feet to find herself a cup of tea.

Pritchard sat on a stool at the island, intent on his laptop.  He waved without looking up as she came in. Ignoring him, she made a beeline for the kettle.  A bowl full of fruit sat on the island, and she devoured an apple while she waited for the water to boil.

Sarif paced in the living room below, arguing with someone via his infolink.  Every bit the CEO in control, even after his business had crashed and burned.  Faridah stifled the blaze of fury that clawed its way into her throat at the sight of that arrogant, manipulative, conceited, self-serving...

He wasn’t worth the trouble.  The kettle clicked off behind her and she brewed a cup of tea in one of the oversized mugs hanging beneath the upper cabinet.  Forced herself to focus on preparing the beverage just right.  Finally done, she took a sip.

Perfect.  She wrapped both hands around the mug, holding it up to her face to bathe in the aroma.  Slowly, calm leeched into her from the smell and taste and familiar heat.  Only when her breath was even and the tea was half-gone did she turn back to the hallway, cup in hand, to check on Adam.

He was still asleep.  The lights in the room were dimmed, and someone had thrown a blanket over him.  He was covered from his collarbones down and was no longer receiving blood.  He looked less pale, though that may have been due to the dimmer light or the dark blue of the blanket.  Jasminder was nowhere in sight, but Dr. Marcovic sat on a stool by the wall next to the monitor, watching Adam silently.  She nodded to Faridah as she came in, and Faridah came to stand by the dark-haired doctor.  “How is he?” she asked before taking a sip.

“Better.  Once we got his wounds closed and got some more blood into him, he stabilized right away.”

“So… not the first time you’ve done this,” Faridah asked faux-casually.  She wasn’t sure if she should throttle the woman or pity her.  It was clear that Adam skewed towards the latter.

“…no.”  The doctor’s voice was subdued.  “I struggled with what I was instructed to do.  It was legal, but entirely unethical.  But with all the money Sarif Industries was pumping into the clinic, they would have just gone down the list of doctors until they found one that was willing.  So I did it, because I knew I could do the best job.”  She met Faridah’s eyes, gaze sharp even in the dim light of the room.  “After helping save that man from injuries he should not have survived, I cut off three of his limbs.  Three perfectly functioning limbs, because his employer wanted to know if he could.”

She dragged in a long breath.  “Nobody deserves that.  For any reason.  It was only later that I managed to stand up to David.  Too late for Adam, unfortunately.  I want you to know two things: that I will do anything to save Adam Jensen, because of what I did to him, and I am very, very glad that he has you in his corner.”

Faridah’s eyes strayed to Adam, watching as his chest rose and fell under the blanket.  “I want to hate you for what you did to him.”

“I understand.”

“But if he doesn’t hate you, I don’t have the right to.  And know this: if you try to do anything to him that he wouldn’t want, I will shoot you.”

The strange doctor had the nerve to laugh.  “You may not like me, but I like you just fine.  It was worth more than you can possibly imagine to watch you tell the great David Sarif off.”

“Why work for him then?”

“He’s one of the few people left who’s trying to help the Augmented.  And he and I have an understanding.  I’ll kick his ass personally if he ever asks me to do anything like that again.”

Dammit the doctor was becoming more likeable by the minute.  “Long as we understand each other.”

“We do.”  Marcovic’s gaze followed hers to her patient.  “You can go sit with him, if you want.  He didn’t have anyone to do that last time.”

The knowledge speared through her chest like a knife, and she had a mental flash of him waking up last time.  Finding out Megan was dead.  Relearning how to walk, to feed himself.  Adjusting to his new body and his new reality.

Alone.

Not anymore.  Not if she had a damn thing to say about it.

She gulped back the rest of her cooling tea, setting the mug on the stainless steel counter behind her.

Faridah Malik was not the hand-holding type.  She didn’t stand in the periphery, waiting for things to happen.  And she’d _never_ been one for comfort.  But she sat on the edge of the bed in the void left by his missing arm.

He’d never been one for comfort either.  Everything she knew of Adam Jensen was coiled energy ready to strike.  Sarcastic wit hiding behind taciturn shell.  Loyalty.  Even kindness.  But she had never seen the man give or accept comfort.

But here he lay, stripped of all his armor.  The ever-present mirror shades retracted.  Entire arm missing.  Gone was the chest protection he wore on all his missions, and the long dark jacket that was a second skin in the quieter times between.

Right now, he was just a man.  She wasn’t sure she’d ever really seen him.  Adam.  The person.  He’d never let her.  Or he’d never gotten the chance.

Maybe they’d get the chance now.

She turned to the doctor.  “I’d like to stay with him.  Mind if I drag a chair in?”

The doctor’s face lit up, something softening around her eyes.  “Go right ahead.”

Faridah doubted she’d have given her the go-ahead if she knew what Faridah had in mind.  She went back to her room, grabbed a pillow from the bed and swiped the extra blanket from the wardrobe, and threw them on one of the overstuffed grey chairs.  Then proceeded to drag the chair out of the room, up the hall, and into the operating room.

A glare dared the doctor to rescind her invitation, but Marcovic just shook her head with a secretive smile.

Faridah parked the chair far enough from the bed that the nurse and doctor could walk comfortably around it.  Right where he would see it when he first opened his eyes.  Then she curled up in the surprisingly comfortable chair, wrapped the blanket around her, stuffed the pillow under her head, and fell asleep.

After everything that had happened, Adam would damn well know he wasn’t alone in this.

Not this time.


	5. Not So Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slow one, but I hope you like it anyways. Thanks to Drake for beta reading.

Adam came-to slowly.  His consciousness slowly dragged itself forth, head pounding so hard it felt like it rattled his teeth.  There was an odd weight on his left side.  Something there felt…off.  Blinking his eyes against light that seemed harshly bright, he looked down to see…

Oh.  That wasn’t weight he felt.  It was lack of it.  They’d taken his arm.  _Sarif_ had taken his arm.  Without asking.  _Again._

He almost wanted to chuckle at the bitter irony.

That little motion of his head left him exhausted and his neck was screaming at him.  Why was… ah, yes.  Bullet.  Suddenly his shoulder hurt too.  ‘Cause why wouldn’t it.  Everything else they hadn’t taken in the last go-round hurt.  Why shouldn’t _it_.

There was a blob of dark in the room, stark against all that white.  He blinked, squinting to make it out.

Like staring at an extreme close-up, it took him a moment to assemble the picture in his brain.

It was the toes that clued him in.  The blob on the chair was covered from her nose right down to her feet in a blanket, only her forehead and dark hair showing up against the pillowcase.  And one foot stuck out over the arm of the chair, escaped and exposed.

Faridah Malik had nice feet.  Small and nearly delicate looking, with a strong arch and unpainted toenails.

He came to full alertness on that strange thought.  Following close on the heels of _Why is she in my room and where did the chair come from_ , was _Where is the bathroom and can I get there without passing out._

He started by trying to sit up, which worked great when he tried to use his left arm and it wasn’t there.  Nearly fell off the side of the goddamn bed.

Which of course woke up the other occupant of the room.

That was almost worth it as he watched her thrash in her blanket, nearly falling off the chair.

He burst out laughing, a choking, raspy sound in his too-dry throat.

Somehow extricating herself from the offending covers, she was at his side in an instant, arm around his back and pulling him to sitting so he could cough better.

To his shame, he leaned into her as everything that hurt when he opened his eyes turned to _screaming pain_ and suddenly everything was too bright and there was a strange sound in the room and…

…oh.  That was him.  Half-shouting while Malik tried to hold him up without hurting anything.

Someone was talking and he was pretty sure he was supposed to say something or just stop yelling and he couldn’t…

Something pressed to his chest.  Held his back.  Tickled his ear as…

…something…words…?

“…Adam.  Adam?  It’s okay.  The doctor is here.  I’ve got you.  Hang on.”

It wasn’t intended as a command.  It was metaphor.  But his psyche latched onto those two words like a lifeline and his arm came up around her and just… held on.

Buried his face in her neck and her hair smelled faintly of oranges and it was the best damn thing he’d ever smelled.

“There you go.  I’ve got you.”

He felt a little tug in the IV port in his neck and he had the impression of people moving around him but he just sat there and clung.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him.

It was before the attack.  Before his augments.  He’d never hugged someone with this arm.  Suddenly seemed a waste.  He’d killed enough people with it.

She didn’t seem to give a fuck about that.

He could feel the sedative working already, slowing his heart rate and dulling the pain.  Still he held on.  When he wasn’t in the middle of a dead panic this was kind of… nice.

It was really nice.

“Sorry to wake you like that,” he said into her neck.

She shrugged.  “I’ll get revenge later.”

“Please don’t make me laugh again,” he begged.

“You gonna fall apart if I let go?”

Part of him wanted to stay like this forever.  Most of him, really.

This was a damned improvement over bad hotel rooms and sneaking around in the dark and getting shot at all the time.

“Afraid I’m going to have to insist,” Dr. Marcovic said from outside their circle.  “I need to check my patient.”

Faridah tightened her arms around him for an instant before letting go.  Met his eyes as she backed up, her head cocked.

Adam nodded, letting her know he really was okay.  He watched as she turned, noticing her clothes for the first time.  He’d never seen her arms bare.  Never seen her in anything but a flight suit, come to think of it.  She had nice arms.

By the time he looked back at the doctor she had a knowing smirk on her face.  Didn’t say anything though.  Just hummed to herself as she checked his vitals.  Annoyingly.

“Sorry about the poor pain management.  You metabolized the meds even faster than I expected.  We’ll alter the dose.”

“With the Sentinel usually the pain was tolerable by the time the adrenaline wore off.”

She nodded.  “Please let us know if it gets too bad again.”

In the aftermath of his bout of pain and subsequent comfort session, the reason he’d needed to get up in the first place had gotten lost.

It was back in full force now.

“Any chance there’s a bathroom around here?” 

“Just a moment.  I’ll grab you a wheelchair.”

“Can’t I just walk?”

“With the missing arm, you’re off-balance.  Your body has been through a lot of trauma in the last twenty four hours, and you’ve only started healing.  I’d like you to stay off your feet entirely today, and only light walking tomorrow.  Rest and let your body do what you’ve learned to rely on the Sentinel for.  Then we should be able to go back in and repair the damage to your augments once you’re on the mend.  So no.  I am going to _ask_ you to use the chair.  Please.”

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.  “Fine.”

She patted his arm and nodded approvingly before disappearing into the next room, returning with the chair.  She detached the IV bag from his neck before pushing the wretched contraption within reach.

His legs nearly collapsed as he reached his feet.  “Why am I so weak?”

“Your brain knows you’ve been through serious trauma.  It’s trying to keep you from further injuring yourself by sending your augmented limbs the same messages your real ones would be getting.  So your legs are acting weak.  Just like your old ones would.”

Goddamn inconvenient, is what that was.  They got him into the chair and she pushed him through a door in the back of the room.  He couldn’t even operate the damn chair on his own with only one arm.

He managed to get out of the chair and do his business on his own without falling over.  Barely.  It was a near thing twice.  He kept trying to use an arm that just wasn’t there.

Marcovic eyed him critically as he got himself back into the wheelchair.  She pushed him back to the bedside, then came around in front of him, standing just out of reach with her arms crossed.

He knew that posture.  Sixth grade teacher about to give him a lecture on his behaviour.

“You’ve never experienced being an amputee, have you?”

She knew the answer to that.  She was the one who amputated him, for fuck’s sake.  Knew damn well they gave him the augmented limbs before he woke up.  He glared back at her, stubbornly refusing to answer.  The anger that simmered deep down where it wouldn’t eat him alive every moment of every day clawed its way out of its cage to stare out at her.

She cringed.  “I know the answer to that.”  She cast around, finally grabbing the arm of Malik’s chair and dragging it over.  “Here.  Sit in something more comfortable.”

Fuck.  Now she was going to be his goddamn shrink.  Well if the choice was sitting in this goddamn thing he couldn’t even operate, or a chair that was apparently comfortable enough to sleep in…

…better to be comfortable for the emotional torture.  He let the doctor pull him to his feet and walked the two steps mostly on his own.  She moved the pillow, tossing it on the foot of his bed, and gratingly tucked Faridah’s blanket around him, pushing it in around his missing side but leaving his right arm free.

She sat in the vacant wheelchair, leaning forward and resting her arms on her thighs.

“So this is your first real experience of being an amputee.”

Mentally, he flinched away from the word.  His body was different, to be sure, and there was plenty he wished they hadn’t done, but until just a few hours ago, there’d never been anything _missing._

He swallowed.  The fact that he had no left arm was pretty compelling evidence that the word was an apt description.

“It’s normal after losing a limb, to keep trying to use it.  Your brain takes a while to realise that something that massive has changed.  Even years later, you could find yourself forgetting every once in a while.”

“Is that why I keep falling over?” he finally asked.

“That and the weight.  Takes some getting used to.  I would have prevented your former boss from removing the malfunctioning arm, but I was busy with saving your life, and I didn’t consider the implications.  I’m sorry.”

The blanket she’d tucked around him was grey, and soft against his skin, and smelled ever so slightly of oranges.  Goddamn thing was soothing away his anger in a way the doctor’s words couldn’t.  He wondered if she’d done that on purpose.

“I want you to know if you need someone to talk to about any of this, you can come to me.  With the way you were modified before, you weren’t allowed to acclimatize yourself to the changes.  You just woke up and everything was done.  Your experiences here and now are closer to what most people go through when they become augmented.  It’s okay to grieve.  It’s okay if feelings you haven’t had in a long time resurface.  It’s part of the healing process.”

 _That we skipped_ , seemed to hang in the air between them.  This perceptive doctor seemed to understand that they’d glossed over this part last time.  That he’d never really dealt with it.

He had no arm.  He had to face it now. 

She leaned further forward, rested a hand on his knee.  “If you get angry, you come to me.  Don’t turn it on the people who care about you.  I’m trained to deal with this.  They aren’t.  And I am the one who did this to you.”

He stared at the hand on his leg, seized with a sudden urge to…

“Don’t touch me,” he growled. 

She withdrew the hand. 

“You don’t want me taking that anger out on you.”  His eyes bored into hers, and the sheer weight of the rage she saw there was staggering.  “You don’t want me taking that out on anyone.”

She sat straight, rubbing her hands on the knees of her slacks.  “Adam, it has to go somewhere.  It isn’t healthy to hold that inside.”

“Do you know what happens when people like me take out our anger on people?”  He held up his right hand, allowing the nanoblade to slide out.  There was no implied threat in the action; more show and tell.

“Are you referring to the Aug Incident?”

The dark emotion faded from him in a wave of guilt and exhaustion and he allowed the blade to slide back inside his forearm. 

“No.  I was spared that.  I mean, I watched others freak out.  I didn’t.  But we both know what I’m capable of.”

“We do.  But I’m talking about you speaking with someone.  Helping resolve your feelings without violence.”

“Doc, I don’t really see the point of this.”

“I know Adam.  I just wanted you to think on this.  It doesn’t have to be me.  But you should talk to someone about these emotions, before they burst out of you at a time and place that you don’t want them to.”

“Fine.  I’ll think about it.”  _Can we talk about something else?  Or even better, stop talking._

“That’s all I ask.”  She rose to her feet.  “Now, I’d like you to stay in bed, but there’s no reason for you to stay here.”  Moving to the side of the room, she tapped a couple buttons on the wall.

Sarif breezed in a couple of minutes later as he mentally prepared to get back up onto the bed.  Such a simple task only two days ago seemed like climbing a damn mountain now.

“You know, Son, if you wanted to redecorate, we could just move you into a different room.”  He eyed the chair Adam sat in, the blanket wrapped around him.  “Speaking of which, we’re moving you out.”

Adam made to stand up and got a withering look from the doctor.  “You have two choices: you can get in the wheelchair, or you can get back in that bed.”

He glared back, wrapped the blanket around himself, and moved to sit in the wheelchair.  The blanket was soft and warm, and he was strangely reluctant to leave it behind.

Also he was in boxer shorts, the awful jeans having gone missing somehow, and he’d rather not get paraded through the place in his underwear.  He wondered who he’d have to bribe or threaten to get a pair of pants.

The doc wheeled him down the hallway towards the kitchen and through the last door on the left.  The room inside had wide doors, apparently made to suit someone in a wheelchair.  There was a low double row dresser beneath the window on the opposite wall…

…and two beds.

“Am I getting a babysitter?” he grouched.

Something brushed past him into the room and Malik threw a bag on one of the beds.  “Yep,” she replied.  “You almost died on me so I get to keep an eye on you.”

“Got tired of sleeping in the chair?”

“Gave me a crick in the neck,” she replied, flopping on the bed with her head on the bag.  “See?  Much better.”

“Do I have a choice in this?” he asked, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Yes.  Give the word and I’ll go back to having my own room,” she replied nonchalantly.  “And we can get someone else to keep an eye on you overnight.”

He considered for a moment.  “Fine.  You can stay.”

She was most assuredly the lesser of all evils in this place.

“Gonna keep my blanket too?”

“Yes.”  He didn’t bother to explain, and it was all she could do to stifle a grin.

Adam looked up at the doctor.  “Any chance someone found me some clothes?”

“There’s some in the dresser,” she replied.  “But please don’t put a shirt on.  We need to check your wounds and change the bandages.”

“Alright.”

“That easy huh?” Malik asked from the bed.  “So all I need to do to ogle is shoot you every once in a while?  I’m good with that.”

Adam just… stared.  Had to suppress the urge to pull the blanket tighter around him.  Looked down at his own chest.  Saw the bandage and the ports and the struts and just… didn’t get it.

“Adam, covering up that chest should be a crime.  And I don’t think I can say anything further without sounding like I’m objectifying you.”

He blinked hard as his brain tried to wrap around that.  Shook his head and decided he’d rather not.  Looked up at the doctor.  “Could you grab me a pair of pants?”

Malik sprung up from the bed and started riffling through the drawers.  “I assume you want something comfortable?”

The woman was sifting through his clothes.  “Yeah,” was all he managed to force out.

Someone make her stop that.

She tossed him a pair of black sweat pants as she passed by, leaving the room. 

“Can you manage?” Dr. Marcovic asked softly.

He’d damn well better.  “Yes,” he replied, clipped and short.

“You should get something to eat before you go back to sleep,” she advised.

His stomach rumbled in reply.  Traitor.  All he wanted was to get those pants on and climb back into bed.

The door clicked closed behind him and he was left staring at the empty room.

It took him far longer than he’d like to admit to get the pants on, but felt a thousand times better once that was done.  He was hungry though.  Standing up on slightly shaky legs, he glared down at the stupid chair.

Turned and made his way to the door without it.  He’d just be spinning donuts if he tried to operate the damn thing anyway.

Malik was waiting in the hall, leaning with her arms crossed.  “Too bad no one would take my bet,” she said.

It seems he was a foregone conclusion.  “Alright,” she said, standing up.  “Which side do you want me on?”

After a moment’s thought, he cocked his head to the right, holding his arm up.  He’d considered arguing against her help, but at this juncture what was even the point.  Someone was letting him move without the chair and that was victory enough for him.

She slipped up under his arm, wrapping one of hers around his back, and they made slow progress to the kitchen.  The doctor looked on disapprovingly from in front of the coffee machine, but didn’t say anything.

Pritchard was still at the island typing away madly with his laptop connected to the canister that had wreaked havoc with Adam’s augs.  He mutely slid over the take-out container in front of him.

It was one of a dozen strewn over the countertop, and Dr. Marcovic fished around in a drawer, pulling out a handful of forks and laying them on the table.  Adam shot her a look of gratitude.  Using chopsticks had been one of his fine-motor exercises after waking up with his new arms.  Ever since, he couldn’t stand the things.

After the first three dozen or so broke between his fingers, he’d flung one hard enough to embed in the wall.  He wondered if she remembered that.  The dancing mischief in her eyes told him she did.

Malik helped him onto a stool and dragged a few of the containers within his reach, handing him a fork.  “I’d have recommended something healthier, but at this point I think you could just use some calories,” Marcovic commented.

Adam ignored her, sliding the nearest container to him and digging in.

His takeout container kept sliding around the table without a second hand to brace it.  He finally solved that problem by setting the container between his thighs and hunching over slightly to eat like that.

That position hurt his neck though.

He wanted to swear and throw the container against the wall, but as he had an audience…

Malik fished around in the cabinets below the island.  She made a sound of triumph and came out from below the counter, plunking a small casserole dish down in front of Adam.  He looked from the dish to his container a couple of times before taking the container and dumping it into the dish.

Adam started eating again without acknowledging this aid in any way.  Faridah took the stool to his left, dragging it a little away from him before sitting down.

It took him a moment to realise she’d deliberately moved the chair and herself out of the space his left arm should have taken up.  Something tightened in his throat at the simple, thoughtful gesture.  He ignored the feeling and picked up his fork.

The heavy dish did its job, holding position as he wolfed down the contents.  Faridah ate out of a container next to him, and his dish seemed to magically refill from his left whenever the contents got low.

She didn’t make a big deal about helping, just was there with what he needed just before he knew he needed it.

By the time he was full, he was exhausted.  He guzzled back the glass of water that appeared in front of him and made to slide off the stool.  Faridah was there, taking up position under his arm, before he could ask.

She supported more of his weight on her smaller frame on the way back than she had on the way to the kitchen.  Took him into the bathroom in their room and left him there.  Resumed her position under his arm when she saw the door handle move, and got him back to the bed, pulling back the covers and helping him in.

The doctor appeared as she was covering him, injecting something into one of the tubes that led out of the IV line in his neck. He lay out on his back, and Marcovic hit a button to slightly raise the head of the bed.

Malik hadn’t noticed they were adjustable. 

The doctor left and his eyes were drifting closed as she draped the soft blanket he’d left on the wheelchair over him.  He smiled faintly and mumbled thanks as he nodded off.

He may or may not have felt a faint pressure on his forehead just before sleep took him.

 

DE

 

The next day was better.  Well, everything still hurt and he was weak, but they were managing his pain better and at least he could walk on his own.  He’d slept most of the day before and all of last night and Malik didn’t make the fact that they were rooming together weird.  In fact, he’d barely seen or heard her in the brief moments he’d spent awake.

With the doctor’s permission, he took a shower.  Finally got to peel out of his clothes and let the warm deluge wash away the sweat and pain and blood of the past few days.  He leaned his arm against the tile wall and bent into the spray, letting it pound warm against his shoulders.

One thing to be said for his former boss: the man had good taste in showers.

He heard the door to the bathroom open, and a voice called in through the crack.  “You still alive in there?” asked Malik.

“Yeah,” he responded.

“Good to know,” she closed the door again with a click.

She’d somehow managed to remain unobtrusive while being near enough to help.  He’d never thank her for that, but god, did he appreciate it.

If it had been Sarif or the nurse or doctor, he’d have lost his fucking mind by now.  He couldn’t even picture a plane of existence where Pritchard would do it.

Finally feeling like some semblance of himself, he turned off the tap and stepped out.  Discovered that wrapping oneself in a towel is difficult one-armed.  Managed to mostly dry himself off anyway.

The bandages would need to be replaced.  They were all soaked through.  He peered at the one on his shoulder through the mirror, leaning forward and fingering the edge.  Stepped back and turned to look at the black and silver ports that lay bare and exposed in his left shoulder where his arm should be. 

So that’s what it looked like under there.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he allowed his fingers to explore there. There was no sensation; everything there was metal, designed to lock the joint in place and be strong enough to support the extra strength in the arm.  He could have been touching anything really.  His eyes opened and he watched in the mirror as his fingers wandered back to the paleness of his skin at the edge of the joint.  Dug in until it hurt, and reveled in the pain that meant there were parts of him that were still real.  Still his.

Then looked at the hand he still had.  Held it out in front of him, splaying his fingers out.  Turning it back and forth.  There were days, back in the beginning, that he had hated them.  Now?

It was the strangest feeling, but he missed his hand.  Wanted it back.  Felt incomplete without it.  Adam looked down at his right hand and for the first time _it felt like his._

He made a fist and let the nanoblade slide out.  That didn’t.  Never would.

What kind of asshole had swords in his arms.  What kind of psychopath would _need_ them?

Mostly dry now, he squirmed into a fresh pair of boxer briefs and a new pair of sweatpants.  Grey this time.  Stood up and marched out of the bathroom, letting the door bang against the expensive built-in doorstop.

Malik was reading on her bed and jumped.  “You look like you’re on a mission.”

“Am.”  He didn’t slow as he spoke, letting the apartment door slam open and closed again in his wake.  She tossed the book over her shoulder as she got up to follow.

Sarif was at the island eating something elaborate, “Oh, hey, Adam…”

“Where’s the doctor?” Adam cut him off.

“She’s working in the lab below…”

He was already heading down the stairs, ignoring the rest of Sarif’s response.  Faridah trailed after him.

Good thing too, as she was right behind him when he hit the bottom of the stairs and began to sway.  His grip on the bannister was all that kept him upright.  She stepped up, balancing him from the other side.

“Slow down there, cowboy,” she admonished softly.  “You’re still recovering.”

He swallowed, eyes closed, as he fought a wave of nausea. 

The pressure against his ribs felt constricting, yet… it was also keeping him from falling over.   She was there, a steady presence at his side, and at this moment he couldn’t decide if the help was welcome or not.

Did he mention that he fucking hated this?

The nausea subsided and the room stopped spinning, and she eased away from him as he straightened.  “Just… a little slower this time, okay?”

He nodded, taking an experimental step.  When he moved and the room didn’t, he kept going.

The lower level was laid out much the same as the upper, but with the living area taking the space below the kitchen.  The door to the hall on this level had the standard laboratory window with tamper-proof glass and the words _Authorized Personnel Only_ in block letters.  He tested the door, and, finding it unlocked, pushed through.

Large windows lined the hall here, offering a view of the laboratories and what appeared to be a high-end store with an array of expensive-looking augments hanging in bags hung neatly in rows along the walls.

Dr. Marcovic stood looking into a microscope with her back to the windows, and he knocked politely before trying the door.  She turned, coming to let them through the locked door.  “Did you need something, Adam?”

Malik leaned against the doorway behind him, lounging there as the other two spoke.

The doctor dragged out a wheeled office chair and pointedly held it for him.  “I said easy walking today, not bounding down stairs.”  If his pallor was any indication, he’d overdone it.  She moved to the wall by the door, hitting a button there.  “Jasminder, can you bring bandaging supplies to lab two?  We need to change Mr. Jensen’s dressings.”

“On my way,” came the reply.

“Please don’t call me that.  Makes me sound like a junior high teacher.  Adam is fine.”

“And you can call me Vera,” she replied primly.

He held out a hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

The strange thing is that he wasn’t kidding.  After months of post-surgical rehab, this was the first time they’d been properly introduced.  She clasped his hand.  “Likewise.  Now, what did you need?”

“We going back in tomorrow?”

“To repair your augments?  That is the plan.  Though if you continue to ignore my orders, I’ll have to push it back a day.”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee and picking at his bottom lip with his thumb.  “I want you to take out the nanoblades,” he said, dropping his hand and chewing on the lip.

A slow smile spread over her face.  “Okay.”

“Just like that?” he asked.  “No arguments?”

“None whatsoever.  I don’t judge you for having them, but I respect your desire not to.  We’ll remove the one on the left before we attach it, and we can do the right while you’re under.”

He sat up straight, stubborn set to his jaw.  “No.”

“No what?”

Faridah moved into the room, out of  the way as Jasminder breezed in with a handful of supplies and dumped them on the counter by Adam.

“You’re not putting me under.”

“Adam, we haven’t discussed this yet, but Francis thinks the Sentinel needs to be replaced entirely.  He’s been able to ping all the disabled augments but that and the Icarus Landing System.  That sits behind your heart.  We need to go into your chest.  You would need to be strapped to the table, with both of your arms disabled on purpose.  You would be trapped there while people… while I cut you open and put my hands inside your chest.”

If anything, he sat straighter.  “Last time you people put me under, I woke up without an arm.  And the time before that I woke up with a _fuck_ of a lot more missing than that.”  The unspoken, that she was lucky he was willing to let her touch him at all, hung loud in the room.

Jasminder ignored the conversation, approaching Adam.  “May I?” she asked.  He nodded. 

“Do you want me to leave?” asked Faridah.

His gaze flashed to her.  He’d forgotten she was there.  “No.  You can stay.  You need to be here for this conversation anyway.”

“Okay.”  She dragged over a chair identical to Adam’s and sat down just in arm’s reach on his right side.

Jasminder peeled off the bandage on his neck and Faridah strained her neck to see.  “Bad?” he asked, meeting her eyes. 

A line of stitches ran along his neck, parallel to his jaw line, the edges red and angry, and despite the swelling, it was slightly sunken into his neck muscles.  “It’s a little on the gross side,” she admitted, drawing a half-smile.

“Once we get the new Sentinel in and reactivate it, you should heal without a scar within the day,” Dr. Marcovic interjected.

The nurse made quick work of replacing the neck bandage.  His in-and-out high shoulder wound looked better, only a few stitches surrounded by red skin.

“As you were saying.  Knowing that you will be awake, alert, and paralysed, for all intents and purposes.  You still want to do this?”

“Yes.”

She turned to Faridah.  “And how do you feel about it?  What do you think?”

Faridah looked at Adam.  “This sounds insane.  I know you don’t want them…”

“Putting in anything they shouldn’t?  Removing any of the few biological parts I still possess?” he cut her off.  “Look, I trust you to make sure they don’t fuck around more than they have to, but I need to _see it._ ”

“Adam, they can put you under and you’ll wake up with two functioning arms and your augs will work.  Why put yourself through this?”

He met Jasminder’s eyes.  “A moment?”  She nodded and moved aside.

Adam waved Faridah over, and she came to stand in front of him.  He palmed her cheek as his eyes bored into hers, peculiar gold irises spinning and flashing from inches away.  “I need this.  I need to know that if I don’t want something, I can _tell them to stop._ I didn’t get a choice last time.  Nobody asked me what I wanted and by the time I could speak up it was too late.  I need to know exactly what they are doing to me.  I need to remember it for myself.”  His eyes fell closed and his head tilted forward until it rested against hers.

She wrapped her hand around his, fingers digging into the muscle fibers of his palm.  “Are you sure?  This won’t be easy.”

He nodded.  “I know.  And I am.”

Her head lifted away from his to meet his eyes once more.  “Okay.”

She stepped back out of reach, needing the space suddenly and letting Jasminder finish her job.

Dr. Marcovic stepped into the space behind the nurse.  “Adam, we need to have a protocol in place for sedating you, should it become necessary.”

“I don’t…”

“I will not operate if we don’t do this.  For your physical and emotional safety, we need to arrange this beforehand.  So if Faridah has to make the call, you won’t blame her later.”

She turned to meet Faridah’s eyes.  “Whether he’s awake or not, he will be considered to be at diminished capacity through the entire procedure.  You will have the final call on everything that happens in that room, even if he disagrees then and there.”

_Whoo.  No pressure there.  Do what you think is right and risk having the guy never speak to you again.  Thanks Adam.  Being your medical proxy is turning out to be so much fun._

“Which is why we need to discuss all this now.”

“Adam are you _sure_ this is what you want?” asked Faridah, stuffing her hands into her pockets.  Because if I think it’s necessary, I will make that call.”  _Don’t think I’m bluffing either.  The fact that you want to do this in the first place tells me that you wouldn’t know a healthy boundary if it bit you in the_ _ass._ “In fact, right now I’m not sure _I_ want to do it.”

He nodded.  “You don’t have to.  This is a lot to put on you,” he admitted.

 _Ya think?_   “As much as I think this is a _terrible idea_ , I don’t trust anyone else with this.  So yeah.  I’m in.  But if you come out of this pissed at me I swear to god you will never see or hear from me again.  I mean it.  We will be _done_.”

Jasminder finished with the bandages, gathered up the debris, and escaped the room.

“I trust you to get this right,” he replied.

“Yeah, Spyboy.  I just hope you remember that tomorrow.”


	6. Your Heart Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Body Horror in this chapter. This should be the only chapter with that kind of content. It gets fluffier from here on out... for a while.

They (meaning Doctor Marcovic, Sarif, Adam, Faridah and even occasionally Pritchard) discussed and argued over the plan for Adam’s surgery ad nauseam over the rest of the day and into the next morning, but all of the important decisions were made in that lab, between the three of them.

Everyone but Adam thought having him awake during the procedure was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard, but he’d made up his mind, to the point where he threatened to leave his broken augs as they were and walk out.

So, awake surgery it was.

This time the operation was decidedly more… sterile.  While most of what they were doing didn’t involve tissue, there was still going to be a person open on the table and they’d do everything they could to prevent infection. 

So they donned clean scrubs, wore caps over their hair, and had to undergo proper scrub-in procedure.  The nurse would aid with the medical stuff, Pritchard would monitor Adam’s augs, including a brief shut-down and reset to eliminate any remnants of the virus, Sarif would remove the nanoblade from Adam's right arm and attach the new arm, the nanoblade of which Adam watched him remove that morning.

And Faridah would sit in the chair by Adam’s head and do her best to keep him calm.  The protocol was this: if she deemed it necessary, they’d sedate him to finish the procedure.  And if she called for them to clear the room, they would all leave immediately.

Doctor Marcovic and Pritchard could monitor his vitals remotely anyways.

Adam and Jasminder were already in the operating suite getting prepped while the rest of them scrubbed in under the watchful eye of Dr. Marcovic.

When they were clean to her specifications, they filed into the room after her.  Adam lay out on more of a dentist’s chair than the stretcher they used before, reclined about halfway.  A clear bag snaked fluid back down into his IV port and he wore only a dark blue pair of boxer briefs.  It was the clearest look she’d ever gotten at his legs and feet, sleek and black and shiny against the grey chair.

Pritchard moved to Adam’s shoulder, attaching a cable to Adam’s temple and plugging the other end into a laptop that sat on a small standing desk.  He ignored everyone else in the room as he typed away, peering into the monitor.  Sarif arranged tools on a counter off to the side of the room.  He wouldn’t get started until Pritchard was done the reboot.  Doctor Marcovic stood off to the side, speaking with Jasminder.

She moved to the stool by the head of the chair.  Adam’s eyes tracked her as she sat down.  “How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m about to watch as they cut my chest open and muck around in my insides.  I’ve had better days.”  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, tempering his words.

“Well you talk to me, okay?  If things get too much, you let me know.”  Haha.  If.

He nodded.  “Will-do.”

The doctor stepped in, meeting his eyes.  “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”  He laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“Alright,” she announced to the room.  “Francis, you can get started.”

“Okay.  In order to ensure that all of the virus is purged, I need to do a hard reset of your systems.  Adam, I’m going to reboot all your augs, including your heart and lungs.  This won’t be pleasant, but your primaries are designed to reboot quickly so it will only be for a few seconds.  Later I’ll bypass the Praxis system and reactivate the rest of your augmentations.  You’ll be back to your cheerful self an hour or two from now.”

“What would it take to get you cheerful, _Francis_?” Adam replied.

“A lobotomy.  Can we keep this on-task?” Pritchard fired back.

They’d all discussed this before; Adam knew the plan.  But it was important for whoever was working on him to announce what they were doing in order to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

The entire point of this was to let him feel like he had a level of control he hadn’t in the past.  To be able to make decisions and have them abided by.  Even if it was an illusion.  In the end, Faridah and the doctor had the final say.  But he got to see what was happening.  He wouldn’t wake to any surprises.  And he got to put the decisions that were out of his control into the hands of someone he trusted.

All things denied him after the attack that left him an amputee who relied on his augmentations in order to survive.

Marcovic leaned over to ensure she had Adam’s full attention.  “Your heart will not beat.  You will not be able to draw a breath, and your limbs will not move, and your eyes won’t function.  You will panic.”

Faridah stood up, moving so that she was butted up against the shoulder of the chair.

“Your heart and lungs will come back online faster than you’ll think at the time.  Ten seconds where your heart doesn’t beat feels like a very long time.  Your vision will return.  But your limbs will be left offline for the duration of this procedure, both so we can have access, and for our safety.”

He nodded, swallowing.

“So you will breathe again, and you will see again, but you will come back unable to move.”

“I understand.”

“After that, I’ll give you some local anesthetic around the incision site, then I’ll cut down the skin on the middle of your chest.  There will be blood.  I’ll need to pull out the sternum piece of your ribcage in order to access the Sentinel and Icarus landing systems.  I will need to reach behind your heart to get at the sentinel.  The Icarus landing system is down behind your lungs, but they’re both plug-and-play.  Each one should only take a few seconds each for removal and replacement.  After I’m out I’ll tape your skin closed and activate the Sentinel.  It’ll have you healed by the time David’s done with your arms.”

“Alright, whenever you’re ready, Adam.”

Faridah leaned forward, bracketing his face with her hands and turning his face to hers.  “Just focus on me, okay?  I’m right here.  I’ll be right here the whole time.”

He closed his eyes.  Drew in a long breath.  Opened them and spoke.  “Do it.”

Pritchard tapped a few keys, held his breath, and hit ‘enter’.

The first couple seconds were fine; they passed quickly, as seconds are supposed to.  But then his jaw tightened and his mouth began to open and close.  His head tilted back and began to thrash.  His face tightened in a rictus of pain.

His mouth tried to form words his lungs couldn’t force out.  His chest felt like someone was standing on it.  Pressing.  Deeper and deeper until the pressure felt like pain and he couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathecouldn’tbreathe…

It didn’t stop.  It went on forever as the weight grew and grew and everything was black and he blinked and blinked and who turned the lights off and he was dying.  Everything was fading away and he couldn’t move and…

The first heartbeat felt like thunder in his chest, the first breath fast and harsh and wheezing, and suddenly he was back but he just lay there, drawing breath after breath after breath like he’d been starving for air for a lifetime instead of a few seconds.

The room snapped into focus in a millisecond; everything from black to sharp relief.  A pair of brown eyes glistened at him.  “Faridah,” he croaked out.

“Fuck, Adam.  That was… you fucking owe me for this,” she replied.  “You’re back.”

He nodded.  “Gimme a… I need.”

“Take all the time you want,” the doctor said from behind Faridah.

Hands shifted on his face, both thumbs brushing the corners of his eyes at once, just inside the mirrorshade brackets.  There was answering moisture on her cheeks.  Her thumbs gently moved over his cheekbones while he struggled to recover his…

…wits?  …sanity?

At this juncture he was questioning if he had either of those things.  When he whispered, “Yeah, back now,” Faridah stood up straight, pulling one hand away and sliding the other to the back of his neck to coil her fingers through the hair there.  Giving him the space to see, if he wanted to.

He looked down at his chest.  Over at the tray of scalpels and other horrifying instruments. 

Well, he’d been shot and stabbed before.  He could handle a little cut he couldn’t even feel.  As long as his heart didn’t stop again, he’d be fine.

“Go ahead, Doc.”

The look Marcovic flashed him told him all over again how much she disliked this entire situation, but she took the needle and injected it in intervals in his chest.

Compared to what he’d just been through this was downright pleasant.

Pritchard moved his apparatus back and out of the way, making room on Adam’s left side.  Sarif dragged over the tray and began cleaning the ports on Adam’s shoulder with wet wipes.

And the doctor started to cut.

It didn’t hurt.  There was a bit of blood, but nothing compared to what he’d shed even in the last couple of days.  Maybe it should have bothered him, seeing her slice him across the chest like that, but it didn’t.

A distant part of himself said that if that didn’t bother him, perhaps he should seriously consider some life changes.

She began her downward incision next, focused entirely on keeping the pressure even and the slice neat.  Adam realised she was slicing him like a coroner with an autopsy.

And wasn’t that a nice thought.

Next she cut sideways from the bottom, giving her room to push back the surprisingly thick layer of skin to reach beneath.  She met his eyes.  “Normally I wouldn’t cut you this far, but since the Sentinel will completely repair the damage, I’m giving myself better access so I can get in and out faster.”

Unseen beside Adam, Faridah winced.  He just nodded like that was somehow a reasonable thing to say.  To anyone.  For any reason.

If she didn’t have ample evidence that Adam Jensen was insane before, she had it now.  In spades.

“Okay, this part will get a little gross.  Fair warning.  I’m going to need to slide my hand under your skin to detach the sternum plate from your ribs.  You shouldn’t feel anything, but I need to undo the catches where it attaches at the top.  Then it will come out all in one piece.  I’ll set it on the tray here and then we’ll see about getting that malfunctioning Sentinel out.”

Faridah tried not to watch.  It was utterly repulsive.  She was having nightmares about this later.  Adam could spend the rest of his life trying and he would _never make this up to her_.  “You know what I said about ogling?  I take it back.  I may never ogle you again,” she said, staring anywhere but at his chest.

So she missed the approving glance the doctor shot her.

Adam tilted his head towards her.  “Does this mean the date’s off?”

Oh, so he was going there.  Well then.  “You couldn’t afford me.  The last person who tried to woo me bought me a plane.  And she didn’t even get a kiss out of the deal.”

“She?” Pritchard, of course, would hang on that.  His eyebrow shot up as he glanced up from the monitor for a moment.  “Primary augments functioning well within parameters and it looks like we managed to get rid of the virus.  Secondary augments should function properly once we boot them back up.”

Faridah shrugged and didn’t elaborate.  Adam met her eyes and _grinned_.  He knew damn well who the bird came from.

It would figure the man would choose to start flirting over his open chest.  He refused to do anything remotely like a normal person.

Sarif moved the new arm into place, the shoulder muscle fibres peeled back to expose the metal socket and shaft that would anchor to his torso.  He ignored the others as he began to attach the limb.

Faridah fought the rise of bile as the doctor slid her hand under and the skin of Adam’s chest bulged like an enormous insect was crawling there.  She turned to Adam, moving her hands to his jaw and encouraging him to face her.  “Trust me, you do not want to see this,” she assured him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the doctor’s hand disappearing beneath his skin, and he was inclined to agree.

Instead, he looked into her eyes.  He could have fought her gentle grip on his jaw, but it was so much easier to let her distract him from the nightmare fuel that was his body at this moment. 

Her irises were a warm caramel lined with dark coffee and flecked with gold.  Beautiful.  He’d never taken the time to really look.  Shame, that.

Little lines crinkled at the outer edges as she smiled.  “Losing yourself in there, Spyboy?”

It took a minute to realise she was teasing him about staring at her.  “Preferable to the alternative,” was his laconic response.  Truth was, he was trying really hard not to stare at her lips.  ‘Cause if he had use of his arms right now he’d have already pulled her in and pressed them to his.

Well this was fucking inconvenient.  You’re supposed to discover you’re attracted to someone when you’re in a position to _do something about it_.  Not when you’re a half-dead blob on a table and very likely in a state that would make that person completely incapable of finding you remotely attractive in any way.  Ever.

Hell, he was probably giving her nightmares right this second.  Goddamn it.

Something clicked in his chest, and the pressure there shifted.  An object flashed in the doctor’s hand and he mentally flinched away from the implication.

He held his breath, expecting his heart to stop again. 

“Breathe Adam.  I can see your lungs aren’t contracting.  Your heart’s beating fine.”

_I can see your lungs.  Real comforting, Doc._

Faridah shifted one hand to the side of his neck, pressing her fingers to the artery.  “You feel that?  It’s your pulse.”

He was looking at the ceiling now and it took a moment for her words to sink in.  He could feel it, fast but steady, pounding against her fingertips.  “Yeah,” he croaked out.

She locked eyes with Dr. Marcovic.  The woman shook her head slightly, her eyes grave.  He wasn’t handling this well.

“Alright.  I am going to pull out the Sentinel now,” said the doctor.  “I think you should look away.  This is going to be a bit of a shock.”

“No,” he replied.  “It’s fine.  Do it.”

It wasn’t fine.  Nothing about any of this was fine.  The moment he saw her hand slide behind his heart, his brain short-circuited.

He arched backwards, thrashing the only way he could without mobile limbs. His head whipped back and forth, and Faridah lost her grip.  Mouth opened in a silent scream, he gasped for breath that came but he didn’t feel.

Marcovic snatched her hand back, afraid he’d hurt himself with it still inside his chest.

“Pritchard, Sarif, out!” barked Faridah.

Pritchard yanked the cable from Adam’s head and fled with his laptop.  Sarif fled the room, leaving the arm half-attached.

“Adam.  Adam!  Listen to me.  You’re fine.  You’re okay.  You have to calm down!”

He was flailing so hard she couldn’t keep a grip on his head.  “Goddamn it, Jensen.  Hold still and breathe!”

A gentle hand lit on her shoulder.  “I can sedate him…”

She shook her head.  “Not yet.  Let me try to get to him.  How do I get his head up?”  Jasminder hit the switch that pulled him to more of a sitting position and made him easier to reach.  “Out.  Both of you.”

“If he’s not calming down in two minutes I’m coming back in,” the doctor said on her way out.

And then there were two.  Faridah wrapped her hands around the side of his head, the heels of her hands digging into his cheekbones as she gripped hard enough he couldn’t shake her.  He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and unseeing as his mouth opened and closed like a goddamned beached fish.

“Adam!” she shouted from inches away.  “Fucking _look at me_!”

Something must have gotten through as all of a sudden words poured out.

“I can’t… I can’t… Can’t breathe…”  His head snapped to the side and his gaze bored into her.  “ _Help._ ”

“You can.  You’re talking right now.  You can breathe.”

He shook his head.  “Heart.  She touched it and it stopped again.  Can’t get it to… start.  Can’t move.  I can’t feel.  I can’t feel… _anything_.”  She felt a chill to her soul as he said the next words.

“I have nightmares about this.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes and the lump in her throat threatened to choke off her words.

“Can you feel this?” she forced out, and did the stupidest thing ever.

She kissed him.

His thrashing turned to stiffness turned to melting into the chair in an instant.  He angled his head, the only movement he could manage, and his lips parted and pressed into hers.

He groaned, deep in the back of his throat as his lips moved against hers.  Her hands softened on his head sliding down to cup his jaw.  His beard tickled her palms as she held his face and her eyes closed and the stupidest idea ever was the best thing she’d ever done.

She savoured the moment, reveling in the way their breath mingled and his lips were so much softer than she’d ever imagined and that sound he made in the back of his throat shot right down into her insides and part of her never wanted to stop.

But this was hardly the time or the place for an extended make-out session.

She pulled away slowly, and he followed until he couldn’t reach anymore.  Pressing her forehead to his, she asked, “You back with us?”

He let a breath out in a whoosh.  “Think so.”

“You ready to stop this madness?”

When his head shook she let her hands fall, stepping back.

“Adam she needs to put her hand back in your chest _four times_.  You couldn’t handle it even once.”

“For some reason I keep thinking my heart’s going to stop again.”

“Well it did recently, so that sounds goddamn reasonable.”

“I thought if she touched it, it would short out or something.”

“I’d like to think your ticker is more robust than that.”

“Help me understand that.”

“I can go get the doctor or Pritchard.”

“No.”  He stared down at his useless arms and made a face.  Looked down at his chest splayed open with his artificial heart pumping evenly and his lungs flexing slowly up and down.  Then back up and met her gaze.  “I want you to touch my heart.”

“That sounds like a shit line from a bad romance novel.”

“I’m fucking serious, Malik.  I need to know that stupid thing isn’t going to quit on me again and I’d rather it was you than the person who mutilated me.”

Her jaw clenched and she glared daggers at him.  “Fine.  But from this moment on if I see you even start to panic, we are putting you under.”

He glared back.

She cocked a hip, leaning back as she crossed her arms over her chest.  “Those are my terms.”

He stared at her for a long time, and she briefly considered walking out of the room, getting in _Phoenix_ and flying away.  She did not have to deal with this bullshit.  There were plenty of things she could be doing that were a fuckofalot less miserable than this.

If she had to go kiss a stranger to forget the taste of him then so be it.

Finally he spoke.  “Okay.”

She leaned forward and her hands shifted to her hips.  “Okay as in?”

“If you put your hand on that goddamn prosthetic that pumps my blood for me...”

At least that didn’t sound so clichéd.

“…then if I start to lose it again you can sedate me for the rest of the procedure.”

“And you won’t be mad at me later?” she asked skeptically.

“I’m starting to be mad at you now,” he snarled.

“Alright then.”  And she reached out and pressed her fingers to the side of his synthetic black heart.

He stared down in near shock.  She hadn’t given him any warning.  Didn’t hesitate, just…

“Goddamnit I can _feel your heart beating_ ,” she whispered.

He looked up to see that she had this faint awed smile on her face.  “It feels strong,” she added.  “And it didn’t stop because I touched it.”

God this was surreal.  “I can’t feel it.” 

“I can.”

“I don’t remember discussing this particular course of action in our pre-op meetings,” Dr. Marcovic said from the doorway.

Malik’s hand didn’t waver from its position, feeling the artificial organ's shell pulse against her fingertips in a steady, familiar rhythm.

“He’s calm,” replied Faridah.

“That he is.  Well done.”  She came to stand by the chair.  “Do you wish to continue, or would you prefer to be sedated?”

“Keep me awake.  I think I’ll be okay now.”

Faridah pulled her hand back slowly, almost reluctantly.  “That should have been disgusting.”

“And how was it?” asked the doctor with a knowing smile.

“Fucking incredible.”

“If you weren’t already a pilot, I’d suggest you become a surgeon.  You have the taste for it.”

“Yeah I can get that rush in my VTOL thanks.  No blood or panic attacks required.”

“Adam, I suggest a slight change in plans.  I would like to get the Sentinel and Icarus replaced, then have Sarif finish with the arm.  It would give you less to have to focus on, and we can reactivate your legs and the sentinel while he’s working.  We can even take out the right nanoblade later.  There’s no need for surgery for that.  You could even help with the extrication.”

He considered that for a moment.  “Yeah.  Let’s do that.”

“Do you want the others to stay outside?”

“For now,” he replied.

“Okay.  Let’s get this done.”

She laid the chair back once more, and Faridah stood by his shoulders, playing her fingers through his hair.

The rest of the procedure went smoothly.  It only took a few seconds for her to grasp the augment, smoothly pulling it out from behind his heart.

“How are you doing?” she asked as she set the defunct part down and took its replacement from Jasminder’s hand.

“Better,” he replied.  It was still disgusting having a hand inside his chest, but the panic that swamped him earlier was nearly non-existent.

She slid the new Sentinel home and had it clicked in so quickly he wondered what had set him off before.  Aside from the whole ‘up to my elbow in your chest cavity’ thing.  Never got any less gross.

The Icarus was easier to reach, just straight back behind his lungs, against his spine.  Marcovic laughed as she pulled it out.  “I think I found the flaw in this one.”  She held it up to show that the bullet that had gone in by his ribs had lodged nicely in the centre of the augment.  Once more, she had the new one in its place in seconds.

“All done,” she proclaimed, waving Sarif and Pritchard back in.  “Just need to get this back in,” she added, inserting the sternum piece back in and clicking it into place.

That may have felt a little nauseating.

Then she pulled the skin back into position and taped it together as Pritchard re-attached his laptop to Jensen’s head.  “Alright,” he said.  “Pinging your new augs.  And… we have connection.  We can reactivate whenever you give the say-so,” he said to the doctor.

“Activate the Sentinel now.  No reason not to have him healing while David works on the arm.  Actually, there’s no reason not to reactivate everything but the new arm.”  She turned back to Adam.  “Does that sound okay?  You’ll still have to sit for a few minutes while Sarif finishes attaching your arm.” 

He nodded.  “Please.”

Pritchard hit a few buttons and Adam felt sensation flood back into his limbs, and his infolink and HUD buzzed to life.  Something in him relaxed as his body was his own again.  His HUD annoyingly kept telling him his arm was non-functional, but aside from that everything felt like normal again.

“So my job is done here?” Malik said to the room at large.

“Yes,” replied the doctor.

“Good.”  Her hand slid from his hair and she stepped away from the chair.  He missed the touch immediately

He snagged her arm before she could move out of reach, fingers sliding around her wrist gently.  “Thank you,” he said.

She nodded, bolting from the room like the hounds of hell were on her tail.

Adam stared after her, unable to follow.

 

DE

 

 

Faridah peeled out of the scrubs the moment she reached the hall, leaving them on the floor on her way back to their… his… room.  She wouldn’t be staying there tonight.  Grabbing the bag of clothes, she pulled a pair of shorts and tank top over her underwear and slid into her flightsuit.

She slung the bag over her shoulder as she headed for the landing pad.  Threw the thing in the back, deliberately ignoring the boxes of clothes she’d picked up for Adam yesterday.  Courtesy herself, Sarif, and even Eliza.

Right now she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t be dumping them over the ocean.

She went through pre-flight checks quickly, and had the bird in the air before anyone could follow her.  Good.  That’s the way she wanted it.  She fired off a quick email after _Phoenix_ was airborne:

Cassan,

Adam’s all fixed up.

-Malik

She’d let the two follow up without her.

Faridah flew the VTOL out over the ocean, taking it in a series of stomach-churning dives through the late morning clouds, executing barrel rolls, and swooping her low over the waves.  It chased out the sense memory of his searing panic and the feeling of him gasping for breath under her hands.

Chased out everything but the feel of his heart beating into her hand.  And the kiss.  Both of which rated right up by a hard dive in her store of ‘what a rush’ memories.

Not that she’d ever tell the jackass that.  Who the fuck puts themselves through something like that?  And who asks someone else to fucking watch?

Like, ‘Hey you’re my friend.  Want to watch me torture myself for no reason?’

And hey, here she was doing the one thing she loved best in the world, and he was ruining that too.

She flew until the hum of the engines had permeated her muscles and turned her mind to pleasant static.  Then she returned to the apartment, setting _Phoenix_ down and breezing in like she’d never left.  When she found the door to her original room unlocked, she stopped to throw her bag on one of the stuffed chairs and made her way to the kitchen.

Three pairs of eyes fell on her as the Testosterone Brigade paused in the middle of chowing down on pizza to stare.

Adam froze as she walked in, and she watched a myriad of emotions cross his face.  Surprise.  Some mix of pain and relief that made no sense.  Resignation. 

A lot had happened in the handful of days since she’d found out he was alive.  Even more happened today.  A lot to talk about. 

But he’d never been much of a one for words.

And she still wanted to strangle him as much as she wanted to hug him.  Which was a lot.

The sight of David Sarif eating pizza with his hands like a normal person was such a shock that she took a screenshot with her black box aug.  Saving that one for later.

“Hungry?” asked Pritchard, pushing a pizza box towards her.

Come to think of it, she was.  Taking the nearest stool, she dragged a box over and proceeded to devour the first of four pieces.

The men seemed content to eat in silence, which suited her just fine.

Sarif and Pritchard disappeared over the next few minutes as she ate.  Cowards.

After they were gone Adam came and took the stool next to her, resting on his forearms and clasping his hands.  He didn’t speak or look at her.  Just… sat there.

He was back to his usual lithe grace and coiled energy.  There was no sign of the invalid of the past few days.  So she guessed the Sentinel was functioning.  No bandage peeked up the collar of the olive green t-shirt he wore, and his neck was whole and scar-free.

Hard to believe she’d had her hand in his chest a few hours ago.

Done with eating, she washed her hands in the sink.  Turned to face him as she dried them off with a tea towel.  Finally met his eyes, and he was waiting for that.  “I don’t think we want to have this conversation out here,” she said.

He nodded, leading the way to a new door in the hallway.  Held the door open so she could go through first.  Turned on the lights in the room that was the duplicate of her first one.  Minus the view of the landing pad.  Instead it backed onto a little rooftop courtyard.  She stared out through the glass as he closed the door behind him.

“Don’t ever ask me to do anything like that again,” she said.

“If I ever want to do something like that again, you have my permission to knock me out,” he replied.

She turned and glanced over her shoulder at him.  “Does this mean you think that was a mistake?”

He sat on the edge of the bed.  “I would never choose to go through that again, but no.  I needed that.”

“You are a nutcase.”  She stared out into a gloomy afternoon.

“Last time I just… woke up.  And my hands weren’t mine.  I couldn’t walk.  My eyes weren’t something I recognised in the mirror.  I had to relearn how to eat.  Come to terms that I was a walking science experiment.  I didn’t feel like a person again until…”

“Until?” she prompted him.

 _Until you hugged me yesterday morning_ , he left unsaid.  “Not sure I do yet.”

“After over a year?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.  Is it any wonder you’re fucked in the head.”

“I won’t argue that point.”

“You can’t do that to yourself and expect me to just watch.  Or worse, expect me to be the one that puts a stop to the madness against your wishes.  That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched out between them, until the elephant in the room was finally granted a name.

“Faridah, you kissed me.”

She stared hard out the window.  “Yeah well that was a mistake and it’ll never happen again.”

“Oh.”

Well.  Looks like he’d read that one wrong.

He wished he could leave the room without being obvious about it.  But it was his room.  And she’d know something was up if he just up and left.  So he sat there.  Waiting for her to find a reason to leave.

That goddamn kiss had been the one good thing in a day full of shit. 

But for her, it had been a necessary evil.

_Fuck._

He leaned his forearms on his thighs, staring at the floor.  Hoping she wouldn’t try to meet his eyes on her way out.  And that she’d leave as soon as possible.

Relief flooded him as he heard her footfalls move towards the door.  Then it ran right back out when she stopped in front of him.

“Adam, look at me.”

_Please don’t do this.  I need a drink and a nap and a thousand things that aren’t this._

“I didn’t mean that.  Like, at all.  You just scared the hell out of me and I’m pissed as hell.”  Her feet moved closer, so she was almost touching his bowed head. 

She grabbed his hand and gave it a little tug, pulling him up.  He came to his feet slowly, standing so close their chests were nearly touching.  Reaching up, she put a hand behind his neck and pulled him down to her, wrapping the other arm around his back.  “Adam Jensen, I am very, very glad that you’re still alive,” she said with her face against his shoulder.  “And maybe you can kiss me again sometime but right now I just need…”

He curled around her, pressing his face into her neck.

This time he got to hold her with both arms.


	7. Stubbornness and Spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam's all better now and it's time to move on... but first... vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quieter character interaction here. Warning: fluff ahead. If it feels like everything is coming to a close, it's not. I've still got a ways to go with this. If you enjoyed it, leave a comment!

That night as she was preparing for bed there was a knock at the door.  An annoying cyborg stood there in the hallway with a soft grey blanket thrown over his shoulder and a pillow tucked under his arm.  He breezed past her when she opened the door, plopping himself down in one of the grey chairs like he planned to spend the night there.

Come to think of it, he seemed to.

“If you came to return the blanket, you’re supposed to give it to me and then _leave_ ,” she said sarcastically.

He grunted in reply, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankle before draping the blanket around himself.

“Spending the night, then?  Fine.  Don’t expect any sympathy when you wake up with a crick in your back.”

“Looked comfortable when you did it.”

“News flash: you’re a lot taller than me.”

He shrugged.

She decided to ignore him.  The man had been a great big bundle of trouble all day and all she wanted to do was sleep.  Turned the light off and climbed under the covers with her back to the wall.

A thought came to her as she began to drift off.  “Is it nice having your arm back?”

Something glinted in the pale light filtering in around the curtains, and she caught the outline of his left hand as he raised it, turning it slowly back and forth.  “Yeah.”

“Night, Adam.”

“Good night, Faridah.”

It was… comforting knowing he was watching over her like she had for him the last few days.  She figured the use of the exact chair and blanket was deliberate.

Turnabout or symmetry, or some shit like that.

She woke a few times in the night, and he was in a different position each time.  First stretched out like he was when he came in, then sideways with his upper body smunched up and his legs hanging off the side of the chair.  And finally he must have shoved the two chairs together because he lay in the middle of them with his head on one arm and his feet off the opposite arm of the other chair, like an oversized child in a bassinet.

She’d had about enough by that point, waking him by throwing a pillow at his head.

He jerked awake, flailing so hard that the chairs separated and deposited him in a heap on the floor.  By the time he knew what was going on, she was standing over him.

“Take the bed, jackass.  At least I can sleep comfortably on those things.”

He stood up in a daze and stumbled to the bed, not even realising what he was doing until he was half under the covers.  “Malik, what are you…”

She held a finger up behind her without looking.  “Nope.  Not happening.  Go the fuck to sleep.  We can talk in the morning.”

She pushed the chairs back together and climbed back into the nest he’d made, stuffing his pillow under her head and snuggling under the blanket.

He blinked a couple of times, wondered how in the hell he’d gotten to this position, shook his head and closed his eyes.

Slept soundly the rest of the night.

Strangely enough, so did she.

Adam woke before she did, splayed across the bed on his stomach with one arm hanging over the edge.  Pushing himself up to sitting, he was halfway through a stretch before he noticed her.

He’d forgotten he was in her room.  It was strange that she’d chosen to give up the bed rather than kick him out.  Then again, so was the urge that had him barging into her room in the first place.

He might have been a teensy bit concerned that his antics of the day might give her nightmares.  It appeared that wasn’t the case.  That night at least.

Faridah was curled on her side beneath the blanket, tucked into a ball, and he watched fascinated at  the way her lashes lay against her cheeks as she slept. 

He needed to go take a shower and get dressed.  Didn’t move though.  Just sat there watching, enjoying the quiet.

Which reminded him.

“Hey Eliza,” he subvocalized, his mouth moving the words silently in the room.

“Adam!” she sounded genuinely happy to hear from him.  “Malik sent me a message that you were better, but it’s good to hear from you.”

“You too.”  She’d been a near-constant presence in his ear for months and they hadn’t spoken in days.  He’d…

…missed her?

Yep.  That was it.

“Did you get the gift I sent?” she asked.

Gift?  What gift?

“Sorry, but no.”

“Malik must not have had the chance.  She picked it up a couple of days ago.  You should ask her about it.”

“Yeah she may have been a little… pissed at me yesterday.  Probably not in the mood to give me anything but a smack upside the head.”

He lay back down on the bed, crossing his feet at the ankle and clasping his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

“Did the two of you argue?”

“I made her watch me get gutted while awake and after that was done she kind of stormed out,” he replied.

Silence hung on the line.  “I must not have heard that correctly.”

He sighed.  “I really wish you did.”  He proceeded to tell her about his shit-show of an operation.

“Adam,” she lectured, “None of that sounds remotely healthy.”

“I know.  You’re not the first to say.”  Or the second.  Or the fifth…  “I’ve had this discussion a few times now.  I won’t be doing anything like that again any time soon.”

“Glad to hear it.  What are you planning on next?”

They’d been running mission after mission for months and he was just… tired of it.

Tired of sneaking and running and getting shot and shitty hotel rooms.

He flashed back to a single thought when he’d been fleeing for his life a few nights ago.  “Paris,” he replied.

“What’s in Paris?” asked Eliza.

“Expensive hotel rooms.”

“Still hung up on that?” she teased.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.  Need to bleach the feeling of that awful place off my skin.”

“How’s this?” she asked, and a link flashed up on his HUD.  He selected it, and went to a booking site for a hotel that showed a massive room done in white and cream with a balcony and a view of the Eiffel tower.

“Book it.”

“How long would you like to stay?” she asked.

“A week.”

Forever.

“Call this my apology for the last place.”

He grinned.  “Thanks.”

“You’re booked and paid for starting this afternoon.  So the room will be ready whenever you get there.”

“Any idea where I could get a ride?” His eyes played over Malik, and a half-smile played across his face.

He could hear the answering smile in her voice when she replied.  “I might know of someone.”

“I’ll ask her when she wakes up,” he said.

“Let me know if I need to make other arrangements.”

He doubted that would be necessary.

“Will do.  Jensen out.”

Sliding out of bed and to his feet, he quietly made his way to Faridah’s side.  He really needed to go take a shower and get dressed, but didn’t want her to wake up and wonder where he went.

Squatting down by her head, he gently nudged her shoulder with his hand.  “Faridah,” he said softly, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, eyes heavy with sleep cracking open.  “Oh, hey, Adam.”  A sleepy smile spread across her face as she turned onto her back, stretching her feet out the other side of her makeshift nest.  He watched, entranced as she wiggled her bare toes.

“How did you sleep after you stole my bed?” she asked on a yawn.

“You _gave_ me your bed,” he replied.  “And fine, thanks.  You were right about the crick.”

“Told ya.”  She sat up and the blanket puddled around her waist.  “For a makeshift bed, this was pretty damn comfortable.  Might have to do this again some day.”

“Well if you’d rather have the bed, it’s all yours.”

“Wait, did you say you were getting dressed?” she asked. 

“I said shower but yeah.”

“Wait here.”  Pushing the chairs apart with one foot, she stood up and sidled past him, disappearing out the door.

He slid the chairs back to their proper places and sat down in one.

She returned a couple of minutes later, carrying boxes that stacked higher than her head.

“You could have had me come with you,” he offered, rising to his feet and taking the top half’s worth of boxes in his hands.

“Wasn’t thinking that straight,” she replied.  “Need coffee.”

Catching his eye over the stack, she said, “We should take them to your room.  That way we won’t have to carry them twice.”

He took the top half of the boxes and followed her into the hall, hooking his foot around the door as he passed to pull it shut behind them.

She led to his room, pushing the lever on the door with her elbow and walking into the dark inside.  Adam hit the light switch on the way in before depositing his share of the load in a stack next to hers on the bed.

Faridah reached for a specific box, handing it to him.  “This one first.”

There was a note taped to the top:

Adam,

There are no chest cutouts, and it’s not orange.  You’re welcome.

-E

He was grinning even before he got the box open.

Inside was a sleek black ACRNM long coat.  Similar to the one Malik had stowed in her VTOL but tailored with sharper lines and closer to the body.  He slipped into it, running his fingertips along the seams.  “What do you think?” he asked.

 _Fucking gorgeous._ “It’s you,” she replied with her own answering grin.

He took the coat off and threw it on the bed, opening the rest of the packages.

Inside were a new pair of boots, a few pairs of black pants in the same style… and size he used to wear…

…And a brand new chest plate.  He suddenly remembered he’d had to leave the old one in the terrible hotel room.

He ran his fingers over the items, an almost-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and a peculiar tightening across his chest.

“The amor and boots are from Sarif.”

“These are great,” he replied.  “Thanks.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”  She beat a hasty retreat before things could get awkward.

She showered and got dressed in her flight suit, packing away the rest of her things and stowing her bag in its compartment in _Phoenix._   Before heading back inside, she fired off a brief email to Cassan, letting her know she would be available for runs again soon.

She was happily caffeinating in the kitchen when Adam reappeared.

“There’s the Spyboy I remember,” she said by way of greeting as he walked in.  She stepped aside, granting him access to the coffee maker.

With his back turned she had the chance to admire how he looked in the pants she'd bought him.

They should pay him to model those things. They looked amazing, even if she couldn't see his ass past the long coat.

“So,” she said over her mug.  “I assume you’re out of here now that you’re back up and running?”

He nodded with his back turned, teaspoon clinking as he stirred.

“So where will you be unravelling the next nefarious plot?” she asked.

“Paris,” he replied as he turned.  Took a sip and met her eyes over the cup.  “Was wondering if you might be willing to give me a lift.”

“Got a hot date?” she asked.

“That depends,” he replied.  “What are you doing later?”

“Apparently flying a smartass across the Atlantic.  I’m busy.”

“Shame.”

“Why?  Three nights with me and suddenly you can’t sleep alone?”

He smirked.  “There’s worse things to wake up to.”  Coffee in hand, he headed down the staircase, leaving her staring after him.

Oh, this was going to be a fun trip.  She narrowed her eyes and plotted revenge.

Pritchard appeared in the kitchen before Adam returned.  “Bother you for a ride back home?” he asked.

“That seems to be going around,” she replied.  “Yeah.  You can keep Adam company in the back.”

He scowled. 

It would serve the both of them right to be trapped with each other for that long.  For all that they seemed to genuinely care about each other, they couldn’t manage two civil sentences in adjoining weeks.

Pritchard had all his gear stowed in _Phoenix_ in short order.  Not long after, Adam appeared outside the VTOL with the stack of boxes they’d brought to his room.

“Said your farewells?” she asked from the cockpit.

“Yeah.  Get me out of this place,” he replied, climbing into the co-pilot’s seat and buckling himself in.  She watched out of the corner of her eye, recalling he couldn’t do that the last time he sat there.

“Try not to bleed on my upholstery this time,” she said, starting up the VTOL and putting her headset on.

He slipped the other set over his ears.  “No promises,” he replied.  “Besides, I thought you said I was going to have to clean it up last time.”

“I took pity on your poor injured ass.  You owe me.”

“If you two are done with the foreplay up there, I’d like to get home sometime this century,” Pritchard interjected.

“Jealous?” Adam fired back.

Pritchard’s huff translated just fine over the coms.  “Hardly.  Faridah and I have a love that will span the ages.”  He said the latter as flat and emotionless as he did the former.

Faridah grinned.  “Yeah we made sweet sweet love on every surface in that place while you were down for the count.  Hope you didn’t eat off that island in the kitchen.”

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the tug of a grin at the corner of Pritchard’s mouth, where he sat in the jump seat in the back.

Meanwhile Adam was staring at her in abject horror.  Her laughter filled the cockpit.

As they were dropping him off back in Detroit, Pritchard called back, “Thanks for the lift, Faridah.  Call me if you ever need anything.”

She glanced back over her shoulder and nodded, faint smile on her face.

“Hey Pritchard?” Adam interjected.

“Mmm?”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well.  Try not to get shot in the future.”

Faridah rolled her eyes as Pritchard slid the cargo door closed behind him.

“You sure you don’t want to kiss your lover good-bye?” Adam asked, making a face.

“We had sex in the cargo hold before you got there,” she fired back.  “That’ll tide me over for a while.”

He shuddered.

Adam stayed in the VTOL as they hit a refuelling station in Detroit.  While he wasn’t necessarily in hiding, his old home city was the one place in the world he’d be likely to be recognised, and he was legally dead.  So he stayed behind the tinted glass of the cockpit and let Malik handle gassing up.

Not like she needed his help with it anyways.

She waited until they were at cruising altitude and she’d engaged the autopilot before turning to him.  “So, why Paris?”

He shrugged.  “It was the first place that came to mind.”

“You are going on a vacation _by yourself_ and you chose the most romantic city in the world.”  Obviously the return of the Sentinel hadn’t improved the man’s sanity.

“And a room with a view of the Eiffel tower.”

“How the fuck do you afford that?”

“I have a rich benefactor.”

“Cassan’s never offered to put me up in a ridiculously expensive hotel,” Faridah mumbled under her breath.

“Probably because you never asked.”

“Well I do have a new boyfriend with some…skills,” she mused.

He really wished she’d stop talking about Pritchard like that.  It was wrong on so many levels.

“Hey Pritchard?” she said over the coms.  He’d been so busy shuddering away at the implications of… that… to notice her patching a call through on the VTOL.

“Yes?” his slightly nasal voice replied after a couple of seconds.

“How difficult would it be to change Adam’s reservation into our names?” she asked, smirking at the man in question.

“Hey!” exclaimed Adam.  “That’s taking this little joke a bit far, don’t you think?”

Her eyes narrowed.  She didn’t think that was too far at all.  Not after everything Adam had put her through in the last few days… or six months, for that matter.

“I can have it done in a couple of minutes.”

“Pritchard…” Adam warned.

“But honey,” he added, ignoring Adam’s implied threat, “I’m busy at work and won’t be able to join you.”

“Aww.  I really had my heart set on a romantic weekend,” she fake-pouted.

Adam threw up his hands.  “If it means that much to you, then stay with me!  I’m sure the room’s big enough.”  He crossed his arms and stared out the window.

Obviously all this talk of romance and Pritchard was frying his brain.

She laughed.  “It doesn’t, Adam.  We’re just harassing you.”

Successfully, might she add.

“Well both of your names are on the reservation now, so… you guys figure it out.”  Did she detect a note of spiteful glee in Pritchard’s voice before he cut off their connection?

“Guess you’ll have to stay then,” Adam fired at her.

“It’s not a binding contract.  No one’s going to arrest you for not having two people in the room,” she pointed out.

“What, afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

Right about now she was picturing her hands _on_ him, though probably not in the way he was thinking. 

“In all the time I’ve known you I’ve somehow managed to keep my urges in check,” she deadpanned. 

Even the urge to throttle him, apparently.

“And you’re afraid that a week in my company will throw all that self-control out the window.”

She was going to throw _him_ out the window.

“You know what?  I could use a vacation.  And not one where I’ve just discovered I’m unemployed and I don’t know where my next job will come from.  Or standing by the bedside of someone who I thought was dead and is now actively dying.  I could use some time off in the lap of luxury and since I am in absolutely no danger of not being able to keep my hands off you, I’m going to take you up on your offer.  Guess you’ve got a roommate, Spyboy.”

She unnecessarily adjusted the controls on the VTOL just to give herself something to do, and stared out the window, determinedly not looking at Adam.

Faridah sent a quick subvocal call to Cassan via her infolink.  “Can you clear my schedule for the next week?”

“Easily.  Would you like me to?”

“Yes.”

“Might I inquire as to the reason?  I just got email confirmation that your name has been added to Adam’s reservation.” 

“… it’s a long story?”  Spite.  And stubbornness.

The slight buzz of static filled the silence on the line.  “Keep me apprised of the situation.  And enjoy your holiday.”

She severed the connection.

“Oh look,” Faridah said out loud.  “My schedule just cleared up.  Now you’re stuck with me.”

Out of the corner of her eye she caught the way he stilled in his seat for a fraction of a second.

_Your move._

“You know the room’s a single, right?”

“Even with your bed-hogging talents I doubt you’d need to book two whole beds just for yourself,” she fired back.

“Uuuuh… how do you know about my sleeping habits?”

She flashed him a withering look.  “Three days as roommates, remember?”  You know, being as one of those days was _today._   “Plus I crashed at your place that one time.  You sleep diagonally across the bed, you thrash enough to pull the sheet off the corner, and you mash your pillows so hard they’re mangled.”  _How am I doing?_

If she kept up the sarcasm, she didn’t have to think about what she’d just signed on for.

She looked down at herself.  “Will they even let me into your fancy hotel dressed like this?  I don’t exactly have anything nicer or, you know, _clean_ to wear right now.”

“You can buy clothes when we’re there.”

“You want us to go shopping together in Paris,” she said incredulously.

He shrugged.  “Can’t have you walking around naked.  What would the neighbors think?”

Somebody had lobotomised one of them in their sleep.  It was the only explanation.

Or both of them.

They flew on in silence, each doing their level best not to think about the implications of their little game of chicken.

Faridah loved the rush of flying; diving and spinning and dropping into a space that left mere feet of space at the edge of her wings.  Even dodging missiles and bullets was a thrill.  But there was something to be said for the peaceful static of a long uncomplicated flight.  Where the hum of the engines settled into her bones like the purr of a massive cat, uninterrupted by conversation.

Especially after the past few days.

Undead stowaway.  Bleeding in her cockpit.  Sleeping in chairs.  Nightmare surgery.  Hugs.

If Adam wasn’t sitting next to her at that exact moment, she’d have thought it all a very strange dream.

“Did you get the other nanoblade out?” she asked out of the blue, hours into the flight.

Adam nodded.  “After you left.  Sarif got the left arm on properly and I did most of the work myself.”

“How’d that feel?” she asked, softly.

“Damn good.”  He peeled back the sleeve of his coat, flaring his forearm plates and turning his right arm so she could see the void where the blade used to live.

“Looks good on you.”

His arm resumed its normal shape and he folded the sleeve back down.

She caught sight of the French shoreline, far ahead.  “Not long now.”

“Do you want to check in first, or go shopping?” he asked.

“I don’t want to come across as your kept woman, so shopping.  _Phoenix_ is every bit as expensive as any bird they’ll have parked there, but she doesn’t look it.  You add my flight suit and your fancy digs?  Reads as employee having an affair with her boss.  And while I really don’t care what people think, I’d rather not have to deal with that bullshit.”

“Okay.  I’ll ask Eliza if she has any suggestions.”

She replied with a list of links within minutes of him sending off the email, and he gave Faridah the co-ordinates of a mall that had some higher-end stores.  She discretely checked her bank account via infolink as they came in to land, and was pleasantly surprised at the amount someone had transferred there just that day.

_Thanks, Eliza._

Halfway through the second store she decided, spur-of-the-moment, to replace a large chunk of her wardrobe.  Who knew when she’d have the chance to do this again, and god knew she’d never _make_ the time.

The strangest thing about it all was that she could tell by the expression on Adam’s face as she came out of the room, whether she should buy something or not.

It wasn’t even anything obvious that he did, just this little crinkling at the corner of his mouth and his eyes would go soft and he’d nod ever so slightly, more to himself than her.

Not that she needed his approval.  But it was nice that he seemed to appreciate her new clothes nearly as much as she did.  And he did have good taste.

After the first store, she changed out of the flight suit and into a new pair of jeans with ankle boots and an oversize asymmetrical shirt, finishing off the look with a soft multi-coloured scarf in pastels.  She felt like they might actually let her into the higher end stores in this outfit.

They stowed her flightsuit and new things in the VTOL before heading back into the mall.

Adam picked up a few things as well: soft shirts and lounge pants and a shaving kit and a couple of large bags to stow his stuff in.  Inside a couple of hours they had most of what they thought they’d need for the week.  They took the time to go through their purchases in the back of the VTOL, cutting off tags and folding their clothes and stowing them in the new bags.

It felt wrong strapping in wearing anything but her flightsuit, but it would be a short trip to the hotel so she ignored the sensation.

When they arrived, two of the four pads atop the building were occupied with sleek black expensive-looking planes.  _Phoenix_ would look fat and dumpy next to those two.  “Don’t worry baby,” Faridah said, stroking the console fondly.  “We both know you’re worth ten of those.”

Adam shot her a bemused look.  She shrugged.  She’d bet all her new clothes he talked to himself.  Out loud.

She locked up _Phoenix_ with an apologetic pat.  “Back before you know it,” she promised.

Adam didn’t comment.

They walked side by side to the roof access doors, bags in hand.  A concierge waited for them in the elevator, unnecessarily punching the button for the lobby.

The check-in went smoothly and quickly, and no one treated them like they didn’t belong.  Perhaps that’s because Eliza paid for the week in advance.  Faridah wasn’t cowed by the luxury and sheer opulence of the place; she’d been to plenty of luxury hotels in her employment for David Sarif.  She’d just never stayed in one, never mind a penthouse suite. 

In any case, they were back on the elevator with the helpful concierge before they knew it.

The man insisted on taking their bags, and Faridah was surprised Adam let him.  He carried them to double doors at the end of the hall, and Adam led the way inside.

She would never have agreed to stay if she’d seen it.

This wasn’t the kind of place you stayed with a friend.  Or a former co-worker.  Or… whatever the hell it was they were to each other.

This looked like a goddamned honeymoon suite.  The concierge asked inane questions like buzzing in the background while she all but gaped at the sheer decadence of the room.

It was tastefully done, at least; clean lines and everything done in cream and cappuccino.  It was massive, with a sunken living area large enough to hold an intimate party in, a bathroom the size of her apartment in Prague, and a bedroom with the biggest bed she’d ever seen through double doors to the left.  A small but well-appointed kitchen was off to one side of the main room, complete with its own table for six.

And then was the balcony.  Straight ahead from the main doors and through floor-to ceiling glass there was a little patio with a heavy stone railing supported by columns, with a little café table off to one side and flanked by some sort of potted plant. 

It was beginning to grow dark, and the Eiffel tower glowed like a beacon in the fading light. 

She briefly considered making a break for it; this was way more than she’d bargained for.  But she’d be damned before she let him know that.

“You want room service?” he asked from the living area.

“Yeah.  That’d be nice.  Just… go ahead and order for me.”  She could use the time to compose herself.

She went into the bathroom where she could at least get some privacy while she freaked out.

The tub could have fit four people at once.  And the shower was bigger than the kitchen in her apartment back in Prague.  Goddamn it.  Even here she was surrounded by ridiculous opulence that was obviously intended for two people getting lost in each other’s eyes.

No fucking thank you.

Adam obviously had no clue.  He just wanted a nice room with an amazing view after bad jeans and being shot at.  And now she was stuck in this gilded hell with him.

She splashed water on her face and eyed herself in the mirror before determinedly returning to the room.

“It’ll be half an hour,” he said over his shoulder as she breezed past to grab her bag.

Unpacking her clothes into the dresser in the bedroom wasn’t avoidance, it was practicality.  Or so Malik told herself.

But if there was a bottle of champagne on ice when she came out, she was done.

Not only was that dreaded luxury absent when she returned from the bedroom, so was her roommate.  She peered around the suite, but he’d be pretty difficult to miss in his head-to-toe black against all that pale.  The light was off in the bathroom and she couldn’t hear any sign of him in there.

Finally she spotted the patio door ajar, and Adam beyond.  Leaning both hands on the railing as he stared out at the horizon.

“Helluva view, huh?” he said without looking back as she joined him on the balcony.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

She’d seen plenty of cities in her days as a pilot.  Even this one.  But up there in the sky, the thrill was the air, not the ground, and even the most incredible view was a fleeting and pale shadow in comparison to the high that flying gave her.

But here, with both feet on the ground and nothing to distract her, it was stunning.

The horizon was bands of pink and orange as the sun made its way down, and the lights of the city below glowed like a billion candles in the dusk.  Above it all, the Eiffel tower rose in its curved spire like a lighthouse in stark relief against the sky beyond.

“Drink?” he asked, cocking his head towards the patio door. 

Glancing inside, she spied an expensive-looking bottle of bourbon on the coffee table, flanked by an empty glass.  Its pair was in Adam’s hand, half-full of amber liquid.

Apparently hotels like this skipped the mini-bar thing and went straight for ‘bar’.  She idly wondered if they charged by the bottle or the ounce.

Instead of answering she went inside and poured.  Normally she wasn’t a drinker; too much time on standby having to be ready to take off at any moment.   But not today, when she wouldn’t have to fly for days.  And she needed something as a buffer.

Adam remained oblivious to the room’s implications, thank god.  He was mostly… quiet.  Just enjoying his thoughts and the view and the drink.  Maybe she should just do the same.

She brought the bottle with her as she wandered out, setting it on the table before dragging a chair over to the railing and sitting down, tilting the chair back and resting her feet on the bannister while she let the alcohol burn slowly down her throat.  They sat like that until the food arrived, and ate out on the patio.

Her glass seemed to magically refill on its own and she lost track of how much she’d taken in.  It didn’t matter, really.  She was on vacation.

It was… relaxing.  Nice.  The strange feeling she’d had on arriving in the room dissipated slowly until all she could feel was the breeze in her hair and the buzz from the drink.

She sipped as the city glowed against the darkness, surrounded by the hum and drone of voices and vehicles down below.  The city sang a lullaby that melted her bones and eased her muscles, and she drifted languidly in the stillness.

The clunk of her glass against the table woke her up.  Blinking rapidly, she nearly toppled her chair over backwards, instead slamming it hard on the front legs.

Adam flashed her an amused half-grin.  “No need to sleep out here, Malik.”

“Nope,” she replied, popping to her feet and wobbling a hair.  “There’s a bed inside for that.”  And she made a slightly not-straight line to the bedroom.

He swiped the bottle and both glasses as he followed her in.  “So where am I sleeping?” he asked lazily.

“Don’t know.  Don’t care,” she replied, pulling a pair of shorts and a shirt out of the dresser and carrying them into the bathroom.  She quickly changed and brushed her teeth.

…and the bastard still managed to be under the covers in the bed by the time she came out.

 _Oh, so we’re back to playing that game?_ Emboldened by alcohol and sheer stubbornness, she turned off the light in the main suite, and climbed into the empty side of the bed.

“Not sleeping on the couch?” he asked, and the jerk sounded amused.

“No.  Like I said.  If you hog the bed I’m going to strangle you,” she warned.

“Noted,” he replied.

And how the fuck did she end up in the dark under the covers with Adam Jensen?  This was not how she’d pictured ending her day when she’d gotten up that morning.

She fell into a dreamless sleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

 

DE

 

Adam slowly drifted awake to the feel of crisp sheets that didn’t smell of cheap detergent and sweat.  His arms were around something soft that smelled of… oranges?  And goddamn but did that feel good.

His eyes snapped open at that thought and for a split second he just hoped he wasn’t doing what he thought he was doing.

As luck would have it, he wasn’t.  Turns out he was snuggling the woman’s pillow, rather than the woman herself.

He set it next to her head, hoping when she woke up that she’d think she thrashed in the night rather than the mortifying thought that he needed something to cuddle in his sleep so badly he was willing to steal it.

Rolling onto his back, he stared at the ceiling.  He was lying _in a bed_ next to Faridah Malik.  She slept on her stomach with her face away from him and was ever-so-faintly snoring.

It was the best thing he’d woken up to in a long time and more than anything, he wanted to roll over, wrap his arm around her stomach, and kiss the back of her neck.

He rolled in the opposite direction, sitting up and scrubbing his hands down his face.

Yesterday he’d been teasing about her staying with him and some moronic part of him had egged her on just to see how far he could push her. 

Turns out she was every bit as stubborn as he was.

And now they were in this mess.

Not to mention as of about two minutes ago, he apparently wanted this farce to be real. 

He really, really wanted it to be real.

_Fuck._

He grabbed a clean set of clothes and marched off to take a goddamn shower.

She was sitting up on the bed by the time he returned, hair sleep-tussled and eyes soft.  It hit him like a punch to the gut and he was pissed with himself all over again.  The last time he’d seen someone look like that was… Megan.

There were a number of reasons he didn’t want to think of both of those women in the same breath.  Many of which had to do with Megan being a manipulative bitch who wouldn’t know the truth if he stabbed her with it.

But Megan had been the last woman he’d loved.  They’d lived together.  Gotten a dog.  Planned to get married.

So he really, really did not want to be thinking of Faridah like he used to think of Megan.

There was no place in his life anymore for that kind of… sentiment?  Emotion?  Life?

And being that close to it again just fucking… hurt.

This was a mistake.  This whole fucking thing was a mistake.  Coming here, with or without her, just reminded him of things he couldn’t have anymore.

If he’d come here without her it would have been no better.  He’d have sat, and drank, and stared at a gorgeous view instead of stained walls.  And what was the difference anyways.  He’d have to go back to cheap rooms and running for his life soon enough.  Why remind himself that this existed?

“Adam?”  He hadn’t noticed her approach, and now she stood with her hand on his arm.  “Are you alright?”

He wanted to throw her hand off for being so perceptive.  She was only making this harder.

“Look,” he said, “I made a mistake.  The room’s paid for for the week so why don’t you stay.  I don’t want…”

“Adam,” her fingers dug in.  “What is this about?”

“Doesn’t matter.  Stay.  Enjoy the place.”  He slid out of her grasp as he made his way to the bedroom, grabbing his bag and shoving the few things he’d taken out back in.

“You stay.  I wouldn’t want to be in this place alone anyways.”

_Neither do I._

Something tightened across his shoulders and she watched as he twisted in on himself.

“Adam.  Talk to me,” she said from the open doorway.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, he turned.  “I’m not sure how we ended up here like this, but it wasn’t my intention and I’m sorry.”

“I had plenty of chances to back out.  I didn’t,” she replied, absolving him.

That pinched look in his face faded, and the ghost of a smile appeared in its place.  “Normal people start with a date, or something.”

“Then why don’t you take me on a date?” she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“I…”

“I mean, you’re handsome and brave and all, but I’m not exactly going to run away with you to Paris or anything.  Not that you’re asking.”  A mischievous grin spread across her face.

“That would be a bit much, to start, huh?”

“Ya think?”

He worried his lower lip with his teeth.  “Coffee then?”

“Only if we’re going to call it a date.”

And how the fuck did she do that.  Take this whole situation that had him panicking and wanting to flee, and make it… nice.  Turn it right back around.

Like a hand on his goddamn heart.

“Coffee _date_ then?”

“I’ll be ready in half an hour.”

 


	8. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Faridah in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fluff. Pure fluff. I think you're welcome?

She was ready in twenty minutes.  Came out of the bedroom in a soft-looking chocolate brown dress that flowed when she walked and was slightly longer on one side than the other.

Adam was, of course, dressed in black from head to toe.

“Ready?” he asked, rising from his spot on one of the couches. 

Faridah nodded, sliding into the same low boots from the day before and tossing her things into a clutch purse.  “Lead the way, Spyboy.”

He fell into step beside her as they walked to the elevator. 

Her shoulder peeked out of the off-centre triangular neckline of the dress, and it was all he could do not to stare at the fascinating little triangle of skin at her collarbone.  Shaking himself out of his reverie, he found something else to look at before he was found out.

The lobby below was quiet, it being late for businesspeople and early for vacationers, and they set out from the hotel on foot.

“Should I look us up a place?” he asked as he held the door open for her. 

“It’s Paris,” she replied.  “Let’s just walk until we find something we like.”

Adam was already looking at something he liked, falling into step next to her, his arm barely brushing her shoulder.

“You going to wear that coat the entire time we’re here?” she asked as they strolled down the street.

He shrugged.  “My arms are less obvious with it.”

“We should find you something shorter, lighter weight, then.  Less… vampirey.”

“Vampirey?”  His eyebrow quirked.

“It’s daytime Adam.  You don’t blend.  Not in that,”

“Do you think an outfit exists that would make me blend in daytime?” he asked incredulously.

She laughed.  “Got me there.”

“You look nice,” he countered.  “I didn’t take you for a dress kind of person.”

She shrugged.  “I love the flightsuit, but it’s nice to get out of it and be a regular ordinary person for a while.  You know?”

Actually, he didn’t know.  Not anymore and not for a long time.  Didn’t really matter, though.  “Suits you.”

She smiled up at him.

So she missed seeing the woman that walked into her, colliding hard with her shoulder and nearly spinning her around.

“Aug-lover,” the woman mumbled.

“What did you just say?” Faridah turned to face the bitch, who hadn’t bothered to stop after her opening volley.

She felt a hand slide into hers, half comforting, half restraining.  “She’s not worth it,” he bent low to speak the words insistently into her ear.

His grip tightened on her hand as she tried to shake him off.  “But…”

“Faridah,” he said, his other hand cupping her cheek and turning her to face him from inches away.  “It’s alright.  I get that quite a bit.”

She swore under her breath.  “It’s not alright.”  Her eyes flashed and a muscle flexed at her jaw.  “You’re worth ten thousand people like her.”  Glancing around him at the woman’s retreating back, she added, “Let me go so I can kick her ass.”

He didn’t let her go, instead leaning forward and pressing his lips to her forehead.  “Thank you.”

Well if that didn’t suck the wind right out of her sails…

“Faridah, if you stopped to fight every bigot who didn’t like Augs, you’d never have time for anything else.”  He stepped back, letting go of her hand by degrees.

“I’d make time,” she muttered darkly, hanging tighter as he tried to let go.  Tugging him along behind her, she turned and continued down the street away from the awful woman.

He stared at their connected hands, feeling the warmth of her skin through his artificial nerves.  It wasn’t the same as when his hands were living tissue; he could feel pressure and temperature and texture, but pain or pleasure? Such nuance were beyond his augmentations to claim or interpret.

Still felt… really nice.  He let himself be dragged in her fuming wake, bemused as she glared daggers at anyone who looked at him askance. 

She came down off her temper in a couple of blocks, slowing to a reasonable pace and seeming to enjoy the view rather than looking for someone to fight.  Let go her death grip of his hand, but still held on.  Wove her fingers between his like that was something they did.  Walked proudly by his side, head up and defiant that anyone should have any problem with anything about the two of them.

He’d thought they were going on a casual coffee date, and here she was already acting like his girlfriend.  Let a woman touch your beating heart that one time…

“What are you grinning at?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, lightly bumping his shoulder into hers.

They passed a little café with a barista wiping a table on the patio with her augmented arm and Faridah slid into a chair at an empty table, finally releasing Adam’s hand.  He took the seat across from her and turned his chair so the back was against the heavy stone of the building. 

To keep from staring at his date like a lovestruck idiot, he watched the birds on the eaves across the street.

“So,” Faridah said perkily, “What do people do on these things, anyways?”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  “Chairs?  Sit, one would presume.”

She leaned across the table, giving him a tantalizing view of her collarbone once more, and smacked the back of her hand into his arm lightly.  “I mean dates.”

“You’ve never been on a date?” he asked incredulously.

Her face twisted in irritation.  “Of _course_ I’ve been on dates.  Plenty.  Kissed a lot of frogs, so to speak…”

“Haven’t found your prince?”

“Or princess.  Or just… someone I actually wanted to see again, for the most part.”

“Should I be worried, then?”

“After what you’ve already put me through, the fact I was willing to go out with you at all is a very good sign.”

“Very?”

“All I’m saying is that my being here at all is evidence I don’t hate you.  Don’t go reading too far into it.”

The barista came and took their order, pointedly looking at Adam’s hands before smiling at the both of them.  Faridah got the impression she got a lot of the same kind of attention that Adam had that morning.

The woman smiled all the more at their stilted French and went off to get their orders.

“It’s nice to see your eyes,” Faridah said out of the blue. 

“Oh?” 

“I never got to see them before.  You always had the shades out.”

He shrugged.  “I usually use them when I’m working.  Rarely when I’m at home.”

“And I only ever saw you at work.  Shame.  You have beautiful eyes.”

How could she just sit across from him and say shit like that as though she were discussing the weather.  She had no idea how hard he had to fight the urge to flip the shades out right at that moment.

Perhaps he’d grown too accustomed to hiding behind them.

She leaned back, putting her booted feet up on a chair, and he wished he could see her legs beyond the edge of the table.  He was rapidly discovering that there was no part of this woman he didn’t enjoy looking at.

The breeze ruffled the fringe of her pixie cut as she closed her eyes and soaked in the late-morning sun.  “Damn but this was a good idea,” she said without opening her eyes.

“What was?” he asked.

“This.”  Her eyes opened and met his.  “Paris.  Vacation.  Relaxing for once.”  Birds cooed in the courtyard across the street as she paused.  “Being here with you.”

Something tightened around his chest.  “You think so, huh?”

She nodded.

“Wouldn’t have been the same without you,” he admitted, the closest he could bring himself to agreeing.

Faridah was spared a response by their orders’ arrival, and they sipped away in silence as they watched the world flow by from their private oasis.

“You know, I think we’re supposed to talk more on a date, but… this is nice.”

“It is,” replied Adam.

“So, what should we do after this?”

He shrugged.

Helpful.

“Fine.  We’re buying you a shorter coat.  If you’re not going to offer suggestions, we’ll do what I want.”

“Fine with me,” he replied.  He’d actually enjoyed shopping with her the day before.

“So when was the last time you did something like this?”

“Like this?” he asked.  She could have been talking about anything from coffee to a date to shopping.

“Gone on a date.”

“Years,” he replied.  “You?”

“Not long before the Incident,” she replied.  “Haven’t had the heart or the time since.”

For the first time he realised that the Incident must have impacted her every bit as much as it had him.

“What was it like?” he asked.  “The day of the Incident… the time after.  For you.”

Faridah spun her mug between her hands, staring intently at the beverage within.  “I was in the air when it happened, and as you know, I wasn’t affected.  Gave the scientists you rescued a lift home.  Megan was worried about you.”

“Day late and a couple hundred thousand dollars short,” he replied with a glower.  “Did you know when I finally found her, after thinking she was dead, then storming that facility to get her and the other scientists out, that she didn’t even comment on these?”  He raised his hands, splaying his fingers.  “So either she already knew what they did to me, or she didn’t care.”

“I’m sorry Adam.  I know she meant a lot to you once.”

“Not anymore.”

_Good._

“But I interrupted.  You were talking about that day.” 

She proceeded to tell him an abridged version of returning to Sarif Industries.  “So I had to deal with some of the fallout, though I avoided the Incident itself.”

He’d seen enough of that fallout before he’d destroyed Panchaea.  “That must have been awful for you.”

She swallowed, nodding.  “It really was.  A lot of our co-workers died that day.”  Many more would never be the same.

“Then you stayed at my place.”

“Yes and you’re a slob.”

His head tipped back as he burst out laughing.

“Seriously.  Half-opened boxes all over.  Stacks of books on the floor.  Dishes, cereal boxes, beer cans, even guns, all over the place.”

He was still grinning when he interrupted.  “This is what I get for my hospitality?  Harassment and criticism?”

“And a stolen gun and jacket,” she replied.

“Hey what happened to that?”

She shrugged.  “It’s still hanging off the back of my seat.  Blood’s probably dried by now.”

He winced.  “Sorry about that.”

“Hey that’s the only thing in that bird that’s not mine you bled on.  You should be saying you’re welcome.”

“Gonna keep it?” 

“You don’t need it anymore.”

“I get taking the gun, but is your seat so cold it needs its own jacket?” he teased.

She shook her head.  “Look, after Hengsha, I just… felt better with it there,” she admitted.  “Kinda like you were watching my back from… wherever.”

His eyes softened.  “Well if you’d prefer, you can have the real thing instead.  But keep the coat.”

“Hey, I saved your ass last.”

“That you did.  Means I owe you one though.”

“Or three, or seven,” she countered, returning her boots to the pavestones and rising to her feet.  “Why don’t we wander a bit?”

He stood, handing a credit chip with a sizeable tip to the barista who beamed at both of them, wishing them a good day.  Faridah grabbed Adam’s hand, weaving their fingers together once more as they resumed their walk.

They wound their way down streets and over bridges, choosing their path at random.  Every so often they would stop to appreciate the architecture of a building or bridge, or stare at the view of the river.  Or heckle a hideous dress in a shop window.

The dress on the mannequin was long and sleek and white… and had these massive cloud things rising out of the shoulders that were at best a nuisance and at worst a hazard… and completely hideous, in any case.

Adam chuckled.  “Eliza would love that.”

While Faridah was inclined to agree, she wondered how Adam knew that.  “Since when are you so familiar with our friend’s taste in clothes?”

“When we ran missions together, she’d tap into my optics to get my perspective and inform me of any threats or hazards I missed.  And when we ran prep, she spent a lot of time commenting on clothes.”

“I can’t decide if that’s amazing or terrifying.”

“Bit of both, honestly.  I got used to it after a while.  She’s good at spotting little details I would have missed.  And it’s nice having someone to talk to.  Even if her taste in clothing is _awful_.”  He made a face.

Faridah smirked.  “You should show her.”

“You sure you want a third wheel?”

Shrugging, she replied, “I don’t mind.  Hell, I’d love to hear her justify that monstrosity.  Wait.  Patch me into your audio.  If we’re going to invite someone on our date, I’d prefer it not to be a ghost in your head.”

 

Flashing a conspiratorial grin, he made the call.  “Hey, Eliza?”  Adam patched Faridah in even before contacting the AI.  “Wanna tap in to visuals?  Got something to show you.”

“I’m here too, Cassan,” Faridah chimed in.

“Hello Malik.”

“What do you think?” asked Adam after a moment.

“It is beautiful.  The shoulders in particular make quite the statement.”

Adam and Faridah exchanged a knowing look.

“White is not really my color though.  Thank you for showing it to me.  Perhaps I will contact the designer and get something commissioned.”

“You have terrible taste in clothes, Cassan,” Faridah said, chuckling.

“You are entitled to your opinion, even if it is wrong,” Eliza fired back.  “Adam, can you please look at Malik for me?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

He let go of her hand, backing up to give Eliza the view.  “You look very nice.  That color suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“I will let you resume your…”

“Date,” Faridah finished for her.

“Well, far be it from me to intrude.”

“No,” Faridah interrupted.  “I’m going to get Adam here into a new coat.  Something less ‘creature of the night’.  I could use your help.”

“You just told me I have terrible taste.”

“Only in clothes for yourself.  And honestly, you can pull off that look anyways.  But between the two of us, maybe we can browbeat him into something reasonable.”

“So you’re using my own eyes to gang up on me?” Adam finally got a word in.

“Yes,” the two women replied in unison.

He mock glared but reclaimed Faridah’s hand, earning him a smile.  “Fine.  Let’s go get this over with.”

If shopping with Faridah before was pleasant or at least tolerable, this was akin to torture.  Enjoyable torture, but he’d never admit that.  Not out loud, anyways.

Between the two of them, they had him try on dozens of jackets, many of which he would never, ever, _ever_ actually wear.  Apparently this was Eliza’s revenge for his comment on the orange coat with the cutouts.

At least he was wearing a shirt.  Some of those quote-unquote jackets were borderline obscene.

Faridah and Eliza kept up a running commentary as they selected things for him to try on, openly ogled, and burst out laughing at, in turns.  Perhaps inviting Eliza on the date was a mistake, but you’d never know it from the grin on Faridah’s face.

So, not a mistake then.

It was strange spending time with the both of them at once.  Like finding out that your two favourite people in the world had been hanging out without your knowledge and were really good friends without you.

He ended up choosing a soft dark brown leather jacket that hit him at the hip and had a short collar that stood up below his jaw.  The decision to get this particular one may have had something to do with the way Faridah’s eyes had widened and she swallowed as he came out.  Not to mention the way it seemed to settle over his shoulders like it was made for him.

Even Eliza approved, wonder of wonders.

It was, in fact, lighter than the long coat, and he had to concede that Faridah’s reasoning for needing it was right.  Not out loud, though.

The jacket was the kind of thing he’d liked to wear back when he was still with Detroit police.  The store boxed up his ACRNM coat and put it in a bag for him and he wore the new one out.

“Better?” he asked as he held the door for Faridah.

“Mmmm...” she replied.  “Much.  I like this new ‘daytime Adam’ we’ve discovered.  I feel like I can be seen in public with you.”

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended.  “I seem to recall you holding my hand all morning.”

She slid her hand back into his as though it proved _her_ point. 

There went that eyebrow of his again.

“It looks good on you, Adam.  And now that your shopping excursion is complete and Faridah no longer requires my aid in outnumbering you, I shall leave you to your date.  Have fun.”  She disconnected from both.

“So, that was a thing,” said Malik after she was gone.

Adam shrugged.  “I had her in my eyes and ears for months.  Got used to it.”

She peered at him out of the corner of your eye.  “I’m glad you had someone all that time.  Being dead must have been a lonely existence.”

“I had a few weeks on my own before she contacted me.  And yeah, it was better after.”

They walked on in silence for a few beats, the bag in Adam’s left hand rustling against his leg.  “I’m sorry,” he said out of the blue, subdued.

“For?”  Her gaze moved from the street ahead to Adam’s profile, head cocked at an angle as they walked.

“Letting you think I died.  I thought I was protecting you.  You deserved to know.  I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

Cars droned by.  The voices of pedestrians flowed around them.  A dog barked somewhere out of sight.  Birds cooed on the eaves above.

“It means a lot for you to say that.”  His hand tightened fractionally around hers.  “It… hurt to know you were gone,” she added.

“I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Honestly, neither did I.”

They walked on in silence, alone with their thoughts.

“So,” he said sometime later, “Was that enough of a date for you?”

Releasing his hand, she crossed her arms over her chest and sped up just enough he had to hurry to catch up.

His hand felt strangely empty, and he rubbed it on his thigh as he broke into a jog.

“It’s a start,” she said over her shoulder.

It was. 

They spent the rest of the day wandering the streets of Paris, rarely more than an arms’ reach from each other.  They got a few suspicious looks, but Faridah got tired of glaring and instead took to sliding her arm around Adam’s back and leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder, staring lovingly into his eyes.

Which had the both of them laughing like the lovers they were pretending to be.  It dissipated her anger much faster than wanting to punch the jerks, and left said jerks scowling in their wake.

An added bonus was the bemused smile that lingered on his face for minutes after.

That smile was a weapon more lethal than anything Sarif had added, nanoblades be damned.

He took her to dinner on a patio that overlooked the Seine.  They stared out at the reflection of the city lights on the water and it should have been awkwardly romantic.

But it somehow wasn’t.  It was a good meal in good company that wasn’t discomfited by a need to fill the air with inane conversation.  They did swap a few amused glances over other couples in various states of success in their own attempts at romance.

Things didn’t turn awkward until well after they returned to the hotel room.

Faridah kicked off her boots as soon as the door closed behind them, and padded off to the bedroom to change clothes, while Adam draped his coats over two of the high-backed dining room chairs and sat down to untie his boots.

She came out of the room in a t-shirt and short sleeping shorts, and Adam froze halfway through unlacing one boot to watch the way light and shadow highlighted the muscles in her legs as she moved.

Didn’t even notice he was doing it until she passed out of sight onto the balcony and he snapped back to awareness.  “Smooth, Jensen,” he muttered to himself as he made quick work of the laces and plunked both boots down by the door before joining her outside.

She was back in the same seat and position from the night before, bare feet resting on the railing and already sipping bourbon when he sat down.  “Getting a head start?” he asked.

Faridah shrugged.  “I’m on vacation.  Besides, I’m sure you can catch up.”

He followed her example, crossing his ankles on the bannister and pouring himself a healthy measure.

“So...”  Faridah stared intently into her drink.  “The bed tonight…”

“Look, last night I was just being a shit and I’m sorry.  You can take the bed.”

She ignored his response, interrupting with, “You were snuggling my pillow for dear life last night…”

Oh, dear god she’d noticed.  Adam’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to formulate a reply.  Finally he gave up, taking a long drink instead.

She chuckled.  “Thought you got away with it, huh?”

He nodded, biting his lip and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

“Yeah I woke up in the middle of the night to you wrapped around it in a death grip.  Couldn’t bear to wake you up, so I just stole half of yours instead.”

He refilled his glass and took another long drink.  “I will… never live this down, will I?” he finally replied.

“No, you won’t.  But fortunately for you it’s cute, so I’ll forgive the theft.”

“How magnanimous of you,” he replied drily.

She took a drink.  “So one of us could sleep on the couch while the other sleeps on the bed, but I think last night proves we’re perfectly capable of sharing.”  Giving him the side-eye, she amended, “Well, mostly.”

Last night he’d been tired and had crashed right after she’d joined him.  Tonight that would not be the case.  Lying next to her, trying and failing to sleep, when she was within reach but he wasn’t sure he could touch, would be akin to torture.

“Fine,” he replied stiffly.  If she thought they could sleep side-by-side with no problems then he wasn’t going to argue the point.  Besides, the bed was comfortable.

“I’m gonna go take a shower and head to bed,” she announced, setting her empty glass down on the table.

“Might stay out here a while.”

She nodded, stopping to press a kiss to his temple on her way by.

Distantly he heard her movements in the room behind him while he stared out, idly swirling his glass and the amber liquid within.  He came in a few minutes after he heard her go into the bedroom.

She’d turned the lights out in the apartment, leaving on the bathroom light for him to navigate.  He quickly washed up and changed into the soft lounge pants he’d worn to bed the night before, turned the light off, and made his way to the bedroom.

Faridah lay on her side facing away from the empty side of the bed, eyes closed and covers pulled up over her shoulder.  He moved around the bed and climbed in, careful not to disturb her.

“Hey Adam?”

He almost jumped.  “Yeah,” he replied into the dark, trying to slow his heart rate.

“If you promise not to steal my pillow, I can act as a replacement.”

Wait… what did that...?

“To be perfectly clear, I am asking you if you want to come over here and put your arms around me.”

After the shock wore off he obliged, rolling over and sliding in behind her, resting his head on his arm and wrapping the other around her stomach.  “Mmm,” she said contentedly as she wiggled back into him, pressing into his warmth.  “Perfect.  Thanks.”

He chuckled silently, pressing his face into the side of her neck.  “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger already, don’t you?” he mock-threatened in a soft growl.

She shivered as that rumble slid down the back of her neck and settled in her chest.  “Only if you want to be,” she replied simply.

He’d been worse places.

 

DE

 

The next morning Adam didn’t have to fight the urge to wrap himself around Faridah.  His arms were already there, and allowed to be.  He sighed, pressing his face into her hair and kissing the back of her neck lightly.

“Mmm, hello stranger,” she mumbled sleepily.  “Like your new pillow?”

“Immensely,” he replied, tightening his arm around her incrementally.

“Please tell me we get to do that for the rest of the week,” she said, arching into him with a contented sigh.

“Longer, if you want.”

“Unfortunately I have to get back to work.  It’s a nice thought though.”

“So… go our separate ways after Paris?” said Adam, proud of the way his voice stayed even.  He didn’t want to think about the end when they’d barely gotten a beginning.

“I meant I can’t stay here longer, not that I didn’t want to keep seeing you.”  She squirmed in his arms, turning to face him.  “Eliza and I already discussed using me to fly your missions.  Not that I haven’t been doing that unawares already.  But in any case, we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other even after we leave here.  So if you want to see where this goes, I’m in.”

Just like that.  How could she be so… calm about this whole situation?

“This too much too fast?” she asked.

“It’s a lot to think about,” he admitted, pulling his arm back to rest on his hip and leaning up on his other elbow.  “I’m going to need to resupply before I head out on any missions.  Had to leave pretty much everything behind.”

“I have an apartment in Prague.  We’ll need to head back there to dump my stuff before we do anything else.  I know of a couple places you can buy guns, and I can introduce you to my mechanic.”  She thought for a moment.  “Where do you call home these days?”

He looked around the room and gestured with his hand.  “Wherever I lay my head.”

She sat up, staring down at him.  “Seriously?  Six months and you don’t even have a base.  Just moving from place to place, mission to mission without stopping to breathe or rest in between.”

Following her lead, he sat up, sliding to lean back against the upholstered headboard.  “Dead men don’t need apartments.”

She whacked him with the back of her hand.  “You’re not dead!” she all but shouted at him.  “Just because the world thinks you are doesn’t mean you need to act like it!”  She stared off at a wall and breathed hard through clenched teeth.  “Is it any wonder you wanted to come here,” she finished, almost to herself.

Faridah turned to find Adam studying her.  “Adam, this isn’t healthy, and it isn’t sustainable.  You’re going to end up dead on one of your missions and the only one who will know is Eliza.”

He knew she wasn’t wrong.  Hell if not for her he’d have been dead already.  Or wishing he were.  He met her eyes.  “I know.  I need to do things differently.  I’m just not sure how yet.”

“Okay,” she said, letting her breath out in a whoosh.  “That’s… better than nothing.”

He nodded, watching as she whipped the covers off her lap and stood up, stretching up on tip-toe.  “So, what’s the plan for today?” she asked.

“My plans for Paris involved room service, alcohol, and that balcony,” he replied.

“Okay.  Today we are shopping antique stores and used book shops.”

“You’re furniture shopping,” he said incredulously.

“I’ll be looking for hidden treasures.  And if we’re sitting around doing nothing for the rest of the week, I’m stocking up on books.”  She eyed him over her shoulder.  “Don’t tell me you’re not tempted.  I saw all those stacks of books in your apartment.  You can replace a few of your favourites.  And instead of brooding and drinking all week, you can drink and read instead.”

He opened his mouth to argue that he didn’t brood, but what the hell else would you call drinking alone in a room for two.

“Sounds good.”  Truth is he didn’t really care either way.

They had breakfast in the restaurant downstairs before taking a cab to an area of town dotted with just the kind of shops they were looking for and they spent the day getting lost in dusty shelves and pale, filtered sunlight among the lost treasures.

Adam ended up buying more books than Faridah did.  A _lot_ more.

She idly wondered whether he planned to put them at the end of the week, but let him enjoy replenishing his collection.  If all else failed, she’d get another bookshelf and keep them at her place.  Books always made for good company, and she’d love to make space for more.

He bought so many they had to arrange to have them sent back to the hotel while they were still shopping.

Twice.

It was fun to watch him; the way he got completely lost in whatever book was in his hands at the time, from text books to old magazines to novels.  A faint smile would pop up every so often, crinkling around his eyes as he read.  Faridah watched him surreptitiously from an aisle or two over, catching glimpses through the gaps in shelves.

This was an Adam she’d never seen.  He was… relaxed.  Not watching over his shoulder every moment.  Not moving to put his back to a wall.  She wondered if he used to be like this all the time.

No matter.  If she could lend him back this little piece of himself, she’d do it as often as possible.

There would definitely be a trip to the Time Machine in their future.  She could introduce him to Vaclav, and let him bring half the bookstore home with him.

For some reason, she pictured him bringing them back to her apartment.  Perhaps she should be worried that she was picturing a future with him after only a couple of days.  But she wasn’t.  Being with him felt natural… right.

After a while she forgot to watch him, lost inside the books, herself.  Grabbing at random and flipping them open, reading whatever popped off that page.  Some terrible, some strange and confusing out of context.  Some hilarious.

Occasionally she’d drag Adam out of his own little world to share something.

“Adam, you have to hear this,” she said on a chuckle.

A few seconds later his head appeared around the shelf behind her.  “Oh?”

She read aloud, “ ‘ _I get it,' said the prisoner. 'Good Cop, Bad Cop, eh?'_

 _If you like.' said Vimes. 'But we're a bit short staffed here, so if I give you a cigarette would you mind kicking yourself in the teeth?_ ’ ”

He went completely still.  Stared at the paperback in her hands with this half-pained look on his face.  Walked over and gently took the book, closing it and turning it over.  His fingers played over the cartoonish illustration on the cover and a slow smile spread across his face.

His free hand came up to cup her cheek.  His lips parted slightly as he leaned down and kissed her.

Faridah froze for a fraction of a second before recovering to grab him by the lapels and pull him closer, pinning his hand and the book between them.

His beard rasped over her cheeks as she tilted up to reach him better.  His lips were soft by comparison, moving slowly over hers like they had all the time in the world.  He smelled of dust and leather, familiar and comforting, and his fingers wound lazy circles through her hair.  She relished in the sensations, breathing deep as her mouth moved with his, lingering and warm and right.

He backed away by degrees, lifting his mouth slowly off hers and tilting his head to press his lips to her forehead.

Backing up a half-step, she drew a steadying breath and smiled up at him.  He held the book up between them, a wry look twisting his mouth.  “The book you just randomly picked off a shelf and read to me, is my favourite book.  Has been since college.”  A warm smile spread across his face as he glanced back and forth between her and the book, as though each somehow made him fonder of the other.

“Guess you were meant to have it back, then.” 

“You’ve been giving me back a lot of things I thought I lost,” he replied, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her temple.

She stared up at him in surprise.  That was downright… declarative.

“Yeah well… I’m keeping the coat,” she replied in a desperate attempt to find her footing.

“You can have it,” he replied simply, letting go of her and leaning forward to check out the section she’d pulled the black paperback from.

He ended up with an entire box of books from that store after clearing the store out of the rest of their Discworld novels.  Which made three as his grand total for the day.  Faridah came away with a stack of paperbacks that should be enough to get her through a week or so of down time.  If she ran out, Adam had plenty she could borrow.

They took another cab back to the hotel, parking Adam’s third box next to where the first two had been delivered, behind the couch in their room.

Adam and Faridah spent the rest of their time in Paris wrapped around one another as they slept and read and enjoyed the island of peace that was their room.  They ventured out every so often to go for a walk or try out a new restaurant.

By the time they left at the end of the week, they were walking side by side.

As though that was where they belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam's favourite book (according to me) is Night Watch by Terry Pratchett. It's from the Discworld series, which is why he bought every Discworld book that store had. It's a fantasy novel about a sarcastic cop, which I thought should be right up Adam's alley. You should read it. It's awesome, and a great place to jump into the series. (It's where I did, and I'm a huge fan now.)
> 
> Like and comment if you liked it, and tell me what other books you think Adam would love. (I considered the Dresden Files, but I loved the quote from Night Watch.)


	9. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Paris, Faridah and Adam try to figure out their new normal, out in the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a month since I published the first chapter and this one ticks me over 50,000 words for the fic. So I guess I did my first nanowrimo by accident and in the wrong month? (Pretty typical for me, though. I do everything backwards.)

New clothes and books properly secured in the back, they left the hotel on a bright early morning, headed straight for Prague.

Neither of them looked back, lost in sentiment over what had happened over the week.  They’d had their rest, and it was time to move on.

Malik flew in silence as Adam discussed plans for his next mission with Eliza, subvocalized.  By the time they completed the trip back to Prague and she was bringing _Phoenix_ in for a landing, Adam seemed to have a tentative plan in place.

 She set the VTOL down on a landing pad on an unassuming building as he ended his call.

They got out and she led the way to a door in the red brick wall.  “Is it a long walk to your place?” he asked as she punched in the access code.

“I have friends in high places,” she replied cryptically as she led the way inside.

‘Inside’ was the wrong word for it; the door led to a little rooftop terrace that was walled between the landing pad and itself, open on two other sides to the view from the edge of the roof, and lined with floor-to-ceiling glass on the other.  They passed a fire pit and patio set as they walked towards the glass.  She punched in another code in and stepped inside.

“I’ll say,” he responded.  “Why again did you even need to come to Paris?”

“I was trying to out-stubborn someone.  Regrets?”

“Only that we didn’t stay here instead.”

“Inviting yourself to my apartment?” she asked over her shoulder, tossing her bag on a dark blue upholstered chair by the window.

“You mean like you invited yourself to my hotel room?”

“Touché,” she replied, standing on tip-toe to kiss him briefly.  “Leave your stuff wherever,” she said as she disappeared down the hallway.

“I can stay in a hotel,” he offered.

“Only if you want to,” she called back.  “You’re more than welcome to stay here.  But this place has one thing a hotel doesn’t: a certain someone you like to sleep with your arms around.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic. 

It appeared the woman had a thing for overstuffed chairs and soft blankets.  The two seats that faced the floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on the terrace were huge and comfortable-looking, and matched neither each other nor the giant couch that acted as divider between the living area and the kitchen, facing the television on the opposite wall.

Plush blankets were thrown half-folded over the backs of the sofa and each chair.  An empty earthenware mug sat on the end table between the two chairs, within easy reach of the blue one.  Setting his own bag down just inside the door, he wandered over to where her book collection was haphazardly inhabiting three massive wooden bookshelves against the back corner.

“Okay.”  Adam jumped as she reappeared next to him, and he was suddenly glad the nanoblades were gone.  Otherwise a few of her books and one of her bookshelves might have an extra hole.  He glared down at his flared forearm plates. 

Faridah glanced at his arm.  “Don’t startle you.  Understood.  Sorry,” she added.  “Come.  Let me give you the tour.”

She led down the hallway, pointing at the door on the right.  “Office.”  It didn’t look like an ‘office’ so much as a room for stuff she didn’t feel like finding a home for, with boxes and luggage and footwear strewn about.  “Bathroom,” she pointed at the door across from the office.  At the open door ahead of them she said, “Bedroom.  There, tour’s done.” 

He took a cursory look in each room before finding her in the kitchen, butt sticking out of the fridge as she rummaged around in there.

He leaned on the island.  “Are you sure you’re okay with my staying?”

She stood up, barely avoiding hitting her head before closing the fridge door.  “Adam, what’s this about?”

“I just… I don’t want to intrude.”

“Adam I’m asking if you want to stay a couple of nights while you resupply.  I don’t expect you to move in or anything.  I’m just offering a place for you to stash your stuff while you’re on missions or looking for a place of your own or whatever.”

She stepped into him, hooking her fingers in his belt loops to pull him in for a lingering, soft kiss.  “If you’d rather take the couch, you’re welcome to.  But there’s a perfectly good bed in there,” she added, tilting her head towards the hallway, “And it would be a shame to waste those cuddling skills of yours.”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about.  Rubbing his thumbs gently over her knuckles, he stepped back.  She let him go, sensing he needed the space.  “I’m sure you know you’re the first person I’ve… dated since I got _these_.”  He held out his hands between them, palms up.

His use of the word ‘first’ bothered her, though she didn’t care to explore why.

“It… was a lot to wake up to.  A lot that’s different now.  I didn’t even recognize my reflection at first.”

The permanent brackets around his eyes.  The little hexagon indentation on his forehead.  Eyes of gold instead of the familiar green.  A lot to take in all at once.

Faridah had noticed the broken mirror in his apartment’s bathroom.  Wondered how long it had been that way.  And why he would leave it like that rather than have it fixed.

She nodded, silently urging him to continue.

He dragged out one of the stools at the island and sat down.

“Sometimes there are parts of me that don’t feel like me.  Have you ever seen your own hand out of the corner of your eye and thought it was someone else reaching around you?  I used to all the time.  Still do on occasion.  And my aug limbs are strong.”  His eyes raised from the counter to meet hers, gold irises striking and slightly alien.  “Really, really strong.  I used to break glasses just trying to drink.  Bend utensils by accident.  Crush doorknobs when I tried to turn them.  It would be so easy to lose control and…”  He let out a breath as a muscle worked in his cheek, breaking her gaze to stare at the countertop.  “I’m not sure if I’ll ever…”

Faridah came around the island to stand before him.  With a gentle touch of her fingers she tilted his head up to face her.  “Adam, I don’t want you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.  _Ever_.  I like spending time with you.  Getting to put my arms around you.  And the kissing isn’t terrible either.”  Her face broke into a grin, and his face mirrored a faint ghost of the expression.  “I will take anything you’re willing to give me.  But this?  What we have _right now_?  This is not a consolation prize.  This isn’t what we get because we can’t have something better.  _This_ is something better.”

Adam pulled her into his arms, legs bracketing her body as she stood in front of his stool.  She went easily, tucking her chin into the crook of his shoulder and stroking one hand through is hair.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

 “Now, can you unpack your stuff and at least pretend you’re planning on staying?” she asked, feeling his answering nod against her neck.

She tossed a frozen pizza in the oven to cook as they unpacked the VTOL.  Adam’s boxes of books got stacked by the bookshelves in the corner, as Faridah didn’t want them getting mixed up and thus lost with her stuff in the spare bedroom/office/oversized storage closet.  His two bags of clothes got deposited by the door to the patio.  She let that go by without challenging it, but knew she might have a battle on her hands later if he still had one foot out the door.

She’d just gotten a load of laundry going when the oven dinged, drawing them back to the kitchen.  “So,” asked Faridah after she slid a pizza-laden plate in front of Adam, “Now that we’re unpacked, do you want to go restock for your next mission?  I know where a couple of black market arms dealers operate out of, and I’ll introduce you to my mechanic.”

“Yeah.  Need to get back at it.  Feel like I’m getting rusty.”

“After a week and a half.”

He shrugged.  He’d been on mission for six months straight.  After that, ten days’ down time felt like an eternity.

“Adam, we need to teach you how to people again.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a verb.”

She planted her fists on her hips.  “Pretty sure that’s beside the point.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Do you really expect me to stand here and take it while you harass me over my priorities?”

“No.  I don’t.  But I’d like to see you maybe do some things that don’t involve breaking and entering and dodging bullets.  I like you not-bleeding and in one piece.  And I never, ever want to have to see your internal organs again.  We had _fun_ this last week.  That shouldn’t have to tide you over for another six months or more.”

He began to pace the living room.  “I’ve been at this for months now.  You can’t expect me to just change overnight.  And you can’t tell me that you’re not anxious to get back flying.  To catch up on your runs.”

“Well, yeah but that’s…”

His eyes flashed as he stopped, raising his index finger.  “This is, for all intents and purposes, my job.  So it is no different.”

Her mouth opened and closed.  Finally she heaved a sigh.  “Fine.  You got me there.  But where do you go, what do you do in between?”

His hands dropped down and he stuffed them into his pockets, and he broke her gaze to stare out the window instead.  He shrugged.

“Adam, this isn’t my home.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, confused.

“Up there?”  She raised her head, staring up through the ceiling with a relaxed smile.  “The sky, _Phoenix_ is my home.  This is just a soft place to land.  Do you have _anything_ like that?”

He bit his lip, shaking his head.

“Well you do now,” she declared, marching across the floor to stand in front of him.  “You know where I stayed on the worst day of my life?”  Head cocked, she waited on his answer.

“My place,” he replied.

“Your place.”  She poked his chest as punctuation.  “So let me repay the favor.  If you ever need a place to stay, you’re welcome here.  Whether I’m here or not.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but finally his shoulders slumped and he let out a breath.  “Okay.  But only because you did it first.”  A shy half grin played at the corner of his mouth.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night,” she replied, turning on her heel.

He reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her back to him and sealing his mouth over hers. 

Grinning, she bit his lip just hard enough to hurt; a tiny bit of revenge.  He grunted in surprise, pulling back.  “I give,” he said on a laugh.  “Now if we’re done arguing, I’d really like to go buy some guns.”

“Adam, the only time I will be done arguing is when I’m cold in my grave, and if I go before you I might just come back to haunt you anyways.”

She wasn’t allowed to die before he did.  But since he didn’t want to start another fight…

“Understood.” 

“Okay,” she said, backing out of reach.  “Now let’s go get you those guns.”

 

DE

 

She took him to the two black market arms dealers she knew of in Prague, though she wouldn’t be surprised with his background if he could find others in short order. 

Adam bought a pistol, revolver, machine pistol, and tranquilizer rifle, plus copious amounts of ammunition for all his new guns.  Added to that was an alarming amount of grenades, hypostims, biocells, and energy bars.

“Geeze, you look like you’re preparing for war,” she said as they left the second apartment complex, all Adam’s shiny new toys stowed semi-inconspicuously in a black duffle bag.

“Nuh uh,” he replied.  “I didn’t buy the grenade launcher.”

“Part of me hates myself for saying this out loud, but why didn’t you?”

“Most of my missions rely on stealth and going undetected.  Grenade launchers aren’t really good for that.”

“But grenades are?”

He shrugged.  “The truth?  The gun’s big and ungainly and I can’t fit into vents with it.  Happy now?”

She linked arms with him as they strolled down the street.  “Immensely,” she replied, batting her eyelashes.

They stowed the guns back at Faridah’s apartment before she dragged him back out.  “Do we have to do this now?” he asked, gazing longingly back at his new toys as she towed him back to the stairs down.

“You never know when you’ll need a mechanic when I’m not around.  Best to get you two acquainted sooner rather than later.  Besides, you’ll probably just move into the Time Machine anyways.  Then I don’t have to worry about putting up with you.”

He not-so-subtly pouted the whole way there, dragging his feet and grumbling under his breath.

Right up until he saw it was a massive used bookstore.  “Your mechanic works out of here,” he asked incredulously under his breath as they came through the front door.

“Owns it actually.  He’s a bit… eccentric.  But very good at what he does.”

“I was gonna argue with the idea of moving in here, but… do you think this guy would even notice if I never left?” he asked, staring around at the floor-to-ceiling books that rose two storeys high in places.  Every wall in the place was literally covered in books.

It was like the goddamn library in _Beauty and the Beast_.  Adam would strangle someone before admitting that he felt a little like Belle in that scene.  But… well, he kind of did.

Malik patted his arm.  “Go, be with the ones you love.  I’ll track down Vaclav.”

He was so enraptured by the place that by the time her insult registered she’d disappeared and his retort died on his lips.  Shrugging his shoulders, he lost himself in the stacks.

Faridah found Vaclav deep in the dungeon, bent over a prosthetic arm on one of his many cluttered tables.  “Hey, Mal.  Saw it was you on the cameras so I didn’t bother going up.  Just need to get this last… piece… in.  Ha!  Gotcha!” 

He stood up straight, cracking his neck.

“So… I see you brought me something,” he said with a sly curve of his lips, nodding to the monitor that showed Adam in his brown leather jacket, flipping through a paperback with a faint smile on his face.

“Well he’s not broken right now, but he tends to put his augs through pretty high-stress situations, so you might be seeing a lot of him.”

“Well then.  Let’s go meet this new man of yours.”

She sighed and let the comment go.  When she figured out what they were to each other, Vaclav would be one of the first to know.

They found Adam halfway up a wooden ladder on the balcony.  “Having fun up there?” she asked.

He wordlessly pulled a pile of books off a shelf, handing them down to her before climbing down.

“Adam Jensen, this is Vaclav Koller.  Vaclav, Adam.”  They nodded to each other before shaking hands.

“Sarif tech, huh?”  Vaclav still had hold of Adam’s hand, turning it over and peering at it.  “Top of the line, too.  Latest gen from right before the Incident.”  Straightening up, he released the hand, peering instead at Adam’s eyes and the brackets for the mirror shades.  “Are all of your augmentations Sarif?”  Cocking his head to the side, he eyed Adam’s leg.  “Both legs too, huh?  Augged to the hip?”

Adam stared at the strange, heavily augmented man uneasily.

“Koller,” Faridah interjected, “His eyes are up there.”

“Yes, Mal.  I already looked at…  Oh.  Sorry.”  Dragging his three-fingered hand through his curly mop of hair, he took a step back.

“He’s a bit of an aug enthusiast, and doesn’t usually get to see your kind of hardware,” explained Faridah.  “He’s nuts, but he’s the best mechanic in this part of Europe.”

“Mal tells me you’ve had a tune-up recently.”

Adam scrubbed at the back of his neck.  “If you want to call it that.”

“Well if you plan on using my services in the future, I’d like a look under the hood, so to speak.  Give me an idea of what kind of parts I’ll need to stock.  Might even be able to customise some of your software.  I wouldn’t recommend stock updates after the Incident.”

“Had a run-in with headhunters a couple weeks ago.  They used some sort of virus to mess with my secondary augmentations.  I wouldn’t mind something that could help prevent that in the future.”

“That, I can do.  Anything to mess with those assholes.”  Koller’s eyes flashed as he spoke.  Turning and heading up the stairs, he said over his shoulder, “Come on, I’ll show you how to get to the shop.”

Adam followed a few steps behind, Faridah at his back.  Koller gave the impression of a manic praying mantis as he moved; all spindly arms and legs and frenetic energy.

“This is the one you need to remember.”  The mechanic pointed to a red book in the bookshelf behind the huge heavy desk that dominated the middle of Koller’s office.  He pulled on it and the shelf it occupied slid to the side, revealing little room with a barren elevator behind.

The walls of the room were lined with glass cases that showed off different models of arm and leg augmentations, and they passed them by without comment.  Most of the limbs in the cases were drab, brown, and utility-grade; nothing so sleek or stylish or expensive as Adam’s.

The workshop below held none of the old world charm of its bookshop counterpart above.  Immediately upon exiting the lift, graffiti-laden concrete walls led to a room with exposed piping in the ceiling and walls.  Wherever they looked were cases and shelves strewn with a mish-mash of electronic components, while mechanical limbs of all shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling like a macabre art display.

Or a serial killer’s lair.  The stained brown leather dentist’s chair did not help that particular impression.

The space around the chair was more somewhat more organised than the rest of the dungeon.  A half-circle of monitors surrounded the head of the chair and an array of medications sat mostly-organised in a refrigerated cabinet off to one side.

It reminded Adam of the Harvester room in Hengsha, where the gang stripped the augmentations from their victims, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  Since Malik seemed to trust the strange mechanic, Adam would at least attempt to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Koller nodded to the chair, and Adam shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to Faridah.  She remained silent as she draped it over her arm, letting him take it all in. 

“Shirt too,” the mechanic ordered, and after shooting her a mildly concerned look Adam complied, peeling off his t-shirt and once more handing it to her.  He sat in the chair, deliberately avoiding looking at the stains.

Years in the police force would’ve had him adding up exactly what those stains were from and how they got there.  Not things he wanted to be focusing on.  Easing back into the cold leather, he did his best to relax.

“Wow,” said Koller, eying him up and down clinically.  “You’ve got even more under the hood than advertised.”

“You want me to give you a list?” offered Adam, voice clipped.

The man waved a dismissive hand, oblivious to his patient’s discomfort as he dragged over a stool and started typing on a laptop next to him.  “No need.  I can get a much more thorough idea with the diagnostic.  Besides, this way you get to surprise me!”  He flashed an almost childish grin.

Malik looked on, still holding Adam’s discarded clothes in her arms, valiantly biting back a grin.  Poor Adam looked ready to bolt.

“Okay.  Sending the signal.  You’ll need to accept for the diagnostic to go through.”

Adam considered not allowing it.  If not for Faridah, he’d at least want to get to know the young mad scientist a little better before allowing him access to his augments.  Especially after the events of a week ago.

“It’s alright, Adam.  Promise.”  He hated the way Faridah could read him like a book.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax.  “Done.”

Koller hummed to himself as images came up on the monitor over Adam’s head.  Almost unnoticeably, the humming turned to muttering in Czech, which then turned into a long string of what Adam assumed were expletives.

Some things just translated.

Finally the man slid back from the computer, throwing his hands in the air.  “What are you, some sort of black-ops spook?  And if so, why would you need me instead of your company man?   This is some serious top-of-the line, experimental military shit you’re running.”  He glared at Malik.  “You wouldn’t sell me out to Interpol would you?”

“No, Vaclav.  I wouldn’t sell you out.  Adam’s freelance now.  He is not now, nor has he ever been part of a military organization of any kind.  Nor interpol.”

Adam raised his hands.  “I was working as head of security for Sarif Industries when they were attacked about a year ago.  Some scientists were killed and I was badly injured.  While they were in there trying to fix me up, David Sarif decided to see how much extra they could stuff in there and by the time I recovered, Sarif had his own one-man army.”

“One would assume that since the company went under, you’re… self-employed… now?”  Koller’s hair flopped as he cocked his head.

Adam nodded.  “In a manner of speaking.  You’ll be paid for your services, if I need them.  If you give me a list of parts to get in, I can probably arrange for that too.”

“This would be helpful.  I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly keep next-gen Sarif parts just lying around here.”

Grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, Adam replied.  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

Faridah snorted from across the room, and Vaclav waved her over.  “Give the man his clothes back.  I’ve got what I need.”

Adam shrugged back into the shirt and came to his feet as he pulled on the jacket.

“Well, Jensen.  It was very nice meeting you and your extensive augmentations.  If I am very lucky, you’ll have a malfunction and I’ll get to look at them closer.”

“You mean if I’m unlucky,” Adam fired back.

The twitchy doctor shrugged.  “Amounts to the same.  If you ever need help, you can contact me on this frequency.”  He sent it via infolink and Adam saved it to his contacts.

“Thanks.”  Adam held out his hand once more, and they shook.

Vaclav let the two of them go back up without him.  Mal would either call him when they were ready to go, or leave enough to cover their purchases.  She was always good for it.

“So,” Faridah asked once the doors to the elevator closed, “What do you think?”

“I think he reminds me of a Jack Russell terrier hopped up on caffeine and he doesn’t look old enough to shave, but if you trust him that’s good enough for me.”

She popped up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.  “He grows on you.  Just wait.  Soon you’ll bond over books and augs and you won’t need me anymore.”

He grabbed her hips, pulling her close and pressing his mouth to hers.  “Not gonna happen.”

Well then.  Who was she to argue?

They spent another half hour or so in the store and Adam managed to restrain himself enough to bring home just a single armful of books, though Faridah suspected that he wouldn’t be able to resist going back every chance he could.  She wondered how long it would be before her apartment started to look like a pocket store for the Time Machine.

Adam went and got awkward again when it came time for bed.  Faridah was ready to fall asleep and she damn well _knew_ he was dawdling in the bathroom, likely considering waiting for her to fall asleep so he could go sleep on the couch.

She silently padded into the hallway on bare feet and leaned on the wall by the bathroom door, crossing her arms as she waited.

The door creaked open, and he flicked the light off as he came out, bathing them in darkness.

And then turned and walked _away_ from the bedroom.

“You know, it’s fine if you’d rather sleep on the couch,” she said.  That was a lie.  It _hurt._  

She wondered when she’d started to care so much.

Adam nearly managed to hide how badly she’d startled him, freezing stock-still.  It was still a reaction, though, and she noticed.

“But if you’d really rather sleep out there, you can just say so.  You don’t have to wait for me to fall asleep and sneak off.”

His head tilted back as he released his breath in a whoosh.  “When we were in Paris, it at least felt like neutral ground.  I feel like an intruder here.”

She stepped up behind him, raising her hand to touch his back and stopping just short of completing the action.  He must have felt her so close, but didn’t react.

“You’re not.  I told you that.”

“I don’t want to be some kind of stray puppy that followed you home.  I’ve been imposing on you ever since I tried to stow away in your VTOL.  Thought I’d let you off the hook.”

Her hand was still there, almost touching him, and she felt like she should just drop her hand or touch him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either.

She didn’t want to be off the hook.  She wanted to know she’d see him again after he went off on his next mission.

“Is this… you and me… something you want?” she finally asked.  “Because it’s something I want.  Like, pretty badly.  But if you…” she let her hand fall.

He caught it behind his back without turning, rubbing his thumb across her palm.  “So do I,” he whispered, voice rough.  “I don’t… I don’t do casual.  Never have.  So if we’re gonna do this… I’m all in.”

Faridah took a step forward, bringing his hand with her to wrap around his abdomen and hug him from behind.  She pressed her face into the skin between his shoulder blades and held on tight as she took a long, slow, deep breath.  His chest swelled as he did the same.  “I already half-asked you to move in.  How much more all-in do you need?”

“You’re a nice person.  Nice enough to be there for me when we barely knew each other.  So if I’m going to stay here, if I’m going to keep coming back, it’ll be for one reason and one reason alone.”  His voice rumbled into her cheek like the purr of a giant cat and part of her wanted to stay like that forever. 

Most of her, really.

Faridah finished for him.  “It’ll be because I want you here.  Well I do.  Want you here.  And not just because you should have a soft place to land too.  Because I like having you near me.  When you go away again, having to sleep without you is going to suck.”

“Tell me about it.”  He unwound their hands and pried her arms from around him, turning around to face her in the darkened hallway.

“So how about we don’t sleep apart unless we’re in separate countries, hm?” she asked, and his enhanced vision caught her grin in the almost pitch dark.

“Acceptable terms,” he replied.

“Alright, there’s a bed somewhere behind me that’s currently calling my name.”

“Mine too, apparently.”

 

DE

 

 

They were all packed up and ready to go by late the next morning, each wrapped up in their own pre-mission customs.   The plan was to drop Adam off in Hengsha where he could do some digging into Tai Yong Industries.  Faridah had one delivery, a quick stopover to grab a few hours’ sleep, then she would already be headed out for another.

“So,” said Faridah about an hour out from Hengsha.  “This feels familiar.”

“Let’s not get shot down this time,” Adam replied drily.

“You say that like it was my fault the last time.”

“I’m more inclined to blame Sarif.”

“That’s something I can get behind.”  She thought for a moment.  “It was the last time we saw each other.”

 _Before he died_ hung echoingly silent between them. 

He watched her, head cocked.  “It won’t be this time.”

“You promise?  You’re not just going to ghost on me again?”

He unstrapped to turn in his seat, sliding over so that he was just barely perched on the edge and facing her.  Resting his arms on his thighs, he replied, “Faridah.  Even if you’re not the one picking me up after this mission, I’m still headed back to Prague for a few days before we start up on the next.  What you said yesterday?  You were right.  I need to do something besides this run and gun shit.  So you’ll see me again.  And if I get my way, you’ll see me often.”

She turned to meet his eyes for a moment before returning her attention to the controls.  “Okay.”

“So,” he continued, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, “I’m probably going to be gone at least a week.  Is it alright if I call you?  I mean Eliza’s a great conversationalist, but after having her in my ear all day it’d be nice to talk to someone else.”

“I think the words you’re looking for, Spyboy, are ‘I’ll miss you’.  Yes you can call me.  In fact, you’d better.  ‘Cause I’ll miss you too.”

He did call, that night after she dropped him off.  Ready to fall asleep in yet another bland hotel room that for the first time felt empty and too-large.  Lying face-up on the bed in the dark speaking to a woman in another country, who was in the middle of flying a crate of augments to people who would need them.

The first conversation was stilted, with lots of pauses as they once again tried to find their footing in this fledgling relationship.  But the last thing he heard before falling asleep was her voice.  Which wasn’t the same as having his arms around her, but it was a damn sight better than the silence he used to be accustomed to.

And Faridah got a bit of company on her flight, not to mention the reassurance that he actually did plan on seeing her again.

Over the next few days it would become habit, both calling each other before going to bed at night, no matter where they were and how far off their schedules got from each other.  Sometimes the call wouldn’t go through, if the other was already asleep and their infolink was set to only accept emergency calls, but they took to sending a quick text so the other could wake up to a message at least.

Things like _Sweet Dreams, Miss you,_ and _Don’t get shot_ were common.

A week and a half later she set down on a landing pad on a roof in Hengsha and pulled out a paperback to read while she waited.  A couple of hours later she got a quick message: _Out clear.  On my way._

Not long after that, a lanky cyborg opened the passenger door and climbed into what was rapidly becoming his seat.

Faridah had planned on playing it cool and acting like he was just another pick up for a mission, but her resolve went out the window as soon as the door closed behind him.

Her lips were on his as soon as he turned.  Hunched over in the cramped space, she kissed him like she was starving for it, hands buried in his hair.  He returned in kind, one hand gripping her lower back with the other pressed between her shoulder blades. 

Once they managed to pry themselves apart, Faridah grinned over at him as she buckled herself in.  “Guess I don’t have to ask if you missed me.”

“Pretty sure neither of us do.  I did though,” he added.

 _Phoenix_ hummed to life around them and they lifted into the sky, headed for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More domestic fluffiness. This is not the end. Not even close. A little more fluff and then I'll get back into the action. Leave a comment if you liked.


	10. Belong

They developed a pattern over the next few weeks: Adam would stay for a few days in Faridah’s apartment, then she’d drop him off somewhere around the globe and they’d run their separate missions for days or weeks on their own, until he was done and she’d come pick him up. 

Faridah tended to be away from Prague for only a few days at a time, returning once a week or so to stay for at least a couple nights in her own bed.

There were even a couple of days where their missions didn’t align and he ended up in the apartment when she wasn’t there.  He had to admit it was nice to come back to the same place.  The days she was gone, he spent a lot of time at the Time Machine.  Vaclav, despite his hummingbird-like energy and fixation on augmentations, was starting to grow on him.

Slowly more and more of his stuff began to accumulate there in her apartment, until it started to feel natural seeing his things next to hers.  Faridah never brought up the fact that Adam didn’t seem to be looking for a place of his own.

A couple of months post-Paris, Malik found herself with a few days with the apartment to herself, and decided to make some changes while Adam was away.  She started with the spare bedroom, taking a few hours to unpack the boxes there.  An embarrassing amount of the crap she’d been lugging around ended up in the garbage.  She stacked her boots up nicely in the closet, hung up the clothes, and took out a few knickknacks and found them homes around the kitchen and living room.

Then she went furniture shopping; buying a dresser, a sturdy wooden table, and two more bookshelves to match the three she already had.  Made arrangements to pick them up herself with the VTOL, and paid a couple of movers to come with her and help get everything into place.  After she’d returned the movers to the store, she walked to a shop she’d never been to and spent hours asking questions and buying supplies.  On the way back she picked up a nice lamp.

Then she moved every single thing that belonged to Adam that was in the apartment.

He noticed something was off immediately when she brought him back after his next mission, a few days later.  “Where’s my coat?” he asked as they came in, noting that the brown leather jacket she’d made him get in Paris wasn’t in its home on the back of the middle stool in the kitchen.

“In the spare bedroom closet.  You can hang that one there too.”  She nodded to the black trench coat he was currently in the process of draping over the back of the couch.

She’d never taken him to task for not putting it away before.  Quirking an eyebrow, he picked it back up and went off to follow her direction.  She surreptitiously trailed after him, leaning against the kitchen counter as she watched from the end of the hallway.

He stopped, stock-still in the doorway as he stared into the room.  Looked back over his shoulder to meet her eyes with an almost pained expression on his face before slowly moving into the room.

She followed, pausing in the doorway as he moved to the table, turning on the lamp and casting a long shadow behind him as he sat down on the stool.  He dragged over felt-lined wooden boxes, running his fingers over tiny gears and cogs.

“Where… where did you even find these?  How did you know?”  His voice came out rough, even for him.

“I saw your watchmaking tools in your apartment in Detroit.  Did my best to replicate it.  The owner of the shop here in Prague, Nomad, is excited to meet you.  Not many are still interested in the old ways, according to him.”

He turned on the stool, searching her face.  “Faridah, this was a lot of work to go to.  I can’t help but think this has some deeper…”

“This is my way of asking you to move in,” she cut him off, moving into the room to take his jacket and hang it next to his brown leather one in the closet.  Done that task, she came to stand by where he sat, looking lost.

“You’ve been staying here whenever you’re not working.  I like having you here.  For all intents and purposes, you already live here.  This would just make it official.”  She grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet and dragging him along behind her to the living room.  “I unpacked your books.  There’s a bit of room for more now, but we can add more shelves as you need.”

All his books were organised by author and subject on the new shelves, looking almost discordant next to where her older shelves were haphazardly stuffed with books stuck in at odd angles and no organization involved whatsoever.

Before he really had a chance to process that, she was off again, dragging him behind her to the bedroom.

“And you can stop living out of a bag.  That’s your dresser.  Use it.”  She let his hand drop as she stood back to finally give him space.

Perching on the edge of the bed, she waited on his response.

He slowly walked to the dresser, opening the drawers to find that she’d already moved his clothes in.  Not for the first time, Faridah wondered if she’d crossed a line.  But Adam seemed to need directness, and this was as direct as she could get without getting a tattoo or posting an actual sign.

But those were a little _too_ direct, if you asked her.

Finally he turned, leaning a hip against the dresser and crossing his arms.  “Are you asking me to move in, or ordering me to?” he asked, biting back a smirk.

“I thought I’d make it easier for you to say yes.  And much, much harder to leave if you said no,” she replied, not bothering to hide her smile.

“You sure you’re okay with all my guns and shit taking over your apartment?”

“We can get you a cabinet,” she replied.  “And I’m fine with it.”

“If I’m living here there will be a lot more guns,” he warned.

“Adam,” she stood and moved to stand in front of him, “I am fine with any and all of the baggage that comes with being with and living with you.  The question is, are you good with the same for me?”

“Fuck yes,” he replied, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss.

 

DE

 

New bookshelves kept cropping up in the apartment while Adam was gone.  He’d just get to the point of overstuffing the last one, and then there’d be a new one, fully assembled, waiting for his next trip to the Time Machine.

He was spending so much time there that Vaclav was growing on him.  The kid had this sly, mischievous sense of humor and never failed to harass him for getting shot.

Could he help it if he didn’t protect his legs in a firefight?  He couldn’t even feel the damn bullets hit.  Well, they kicked, but that was about it.  And apparently his legs could take it better than his arms could.  He had yet to do more than mild damage to either leg, regardless of the six or so bullets they’d absorbed over time.

Even though he spent more time away than home, Adam and Faridah spoke over infolink every day.  On the odd afternoon where they were both home and had nothing to do they’d curl together on the couch and read.

Over time Adam familiarized Faridah with all of his guns and weapons.

“A gun you’re not comfortable with is just something someone can take away and use on you.  If we’re going to have these in the house, I need you to be familiar enough to be able to use them in an emergency.”

“I know how to handle a gun, Adam.”

“As I’ve had you point one at me, I can attest to that.  But I need you to know every gun I bring into the house.  If anything ever happens I want to know that you can defend yourself.”

He took her to a firing range so she could try out a series of different guns.  That afternoon Adam discovered that Faridah Malik with a shotgun was a truly terrifying sight to behold.  They stopped by one of his arms dealers on the way home and he bought her two.  “One for home, one for _Phoenix._ ”

She grinned, leaning on his arm.  “You sure know how to treat a woman.”

“I try,” he replied with a shrug.

Inside of a month she could field strip every gun he owned, and she was a pretty good shot with all of them.  Never scarier than with a shotgun though.

After that, they moved on to hand-to-hand fighting.  They cleared an area on the patio by pulling the furniture to the side and he taught her how to step in and deflect the barrel of a gun, how to strip a gun from an assailant, as well as the best places to kick, knee, stomp, elbow, punch, and even head butt someone who was trying to hurt her.

She finally got so frustrated with him knocking her to the ground one afternoon that after regaining her feet she kicked him in the shin.  Being as it was hard as a rock, she immediately doubled over in pain and clutched at her toes, swearing a blue streak.

He knelt before her, gently removing her shoe and kissing her bruised toes better.  “Now you’re just patronising me,” she said with a glare.

“It’s an uneven fight.  You’ve been doing well,” he replied as he slid the shoe back on.

“Oh, look.  Shoe fits.  Guess you have to marry me now, Prince Charming,” she shot back.

He grinned, still on one knee.  “Maybe someday,” he replied.

She stared down at him, blinking.  To cover her shock, she planted her sneakered foot on his bent knee and tied the shoelaces, using him as a shelf.

Adam tilted his head to peer at her face, not commenting on the pink that tinged her cheeks.  “That wasn’t a proposal, Faridah.  Just something to think about for the distant future.”

She swallowed, nodding.  He was supposed to be the one dragged kicking and screaming to the next stage of their relationship, not her.

Faridah got better at sparring over time.  She was nowhere near being able to take him on in a fair fight, but he’d had over a dozen years of training and a raft of military-grade augmentations so the likelihood of her ever being able to do that were slim to none.

They only got a handful of days together in any given month, and much of that Adam spent resupplying for the next mission, but they made the best of their time together by sharing homemade meals and lying in bed all morning with their arms around each other whenever they could manage it.

It became easy.  Normal.  Expected.  To have him in her space.  Pull him in for a hug or press her lips to his bearded jaw or just smile at him and know he was hers.

Adam seemed pretty okay with it all.  Occasionally he’d be up ‘til late, tinkering with his watches or his guns.  Insomnia was an old familiar friend, and even with her to curl around, he couldn’t always stave it off.

His bookshelves became as cluttered and overstuffed as hers, and they kept multiplying when he was gone, until eventually the entire back wall of the living room was one continuous wall of books.

Cereal and hard liquor became his companions solely when he was away from home, and he abandoned the smoking habit altogether. 

She took to stealing a couple of his books every time she left, and was rapidly acclimatising herself to his taste in fiction.  While it tended to skew to detective novels, most of it wasn’t half bad.  Every once in a while she’d slip a quote into conversation just to get a reaction out of him.

Faridah’s black box augment was designed to record flight data for her own analysis after missions, or in the worst case it could help piece together what happened if she died in a crash.

But since she had yet to die in a crash, and she had plenty of internal and external storage on hand, she was building up a library of snapshots of Adam.

Bent over his table, tinkering.

Surrounded by dust motes as he flipped through a book in the Time Machine.

Half-grinning at some stupid joke she’d told.

Lying flat on his back on the rare occasion she’d bested him at hand-to hand.  (Who was she kidding?  It happened once and that was mostly because she’d zigged when he expected her to zag and he’d lost his balance trying to tackle her and fell over.  No matter.  Still counted.)

Fallen asleep leaning on his hand at the island in the kitchen after a particularly long mission.

She had hundreds of snapshots of her favourite moments, and they were just for her. 

Her own library of memories.

It helped tide her over in the weeks he was gone, on the nights the bed seemed too cold and too large.  She was gone nearly as much as he was, but her place had become theirs and it didn’t feel the same when he wasn’t there.

 

DE

 

“Adam, not that I’m complaining, but why don’t you ever wear a shirt when you’re at home?” asked Faridah.  Holding a finger up, she added with a grin, “And by the way, I am really, _really_ not complaining.”

He bent over the coffee table from where he sat on the couch, laying out the pieces of his pistol as he cleaned it.  “Shirts tend to catch on the edges of the ports.  Makes them bunch up across my chest.  It’s more comfortable without one.”

That made sense.

The television droned quietly in the background as he worked, and Malik made her way behind the couch, climbing over the back to squish in right behind him.

Casting a look over his shoulder, he asked, “Am I in your spot?”

“Nope,” she replied as she wiggled down, creating a space between him and the back of the couch and bracketing his legs with hers.

“I could move over,” he offered.

Her arms slid around him and she splayed her fingers across his stomach.  “Then I’d have to move and I’m just getting comfortable,” she replied, her cheek pressed between his shoulders.

He edged forward to give her some room behind him, wrapped an arm over her hands, and continued to attempt to clean his gun one-handed.  With middling results.

Well, he failed miserably, but he had reason to enjoy the attempt.

Either she got tired of being squished or there was a sweat issue or she just found the position uncomfortable because she slid around to take over the side of the couch, draping her legs over his lap.  He let her go, leaning across her legs to finish reassembling the pistol.

“May I?” she asked.

He checked that the chamber was empty and the safety was on and handed her the pistol, grip-first.

She laughed.  “Sorry that was unclear.  I wanted your hand, not the gun.”  She checked the chamber herself and handed it back.

Eyeing her sideways, he set the gun on the coffee table and slowly held his hand out to her, palm-up.

Normally if she wanted to hold his hand, she didn’t bother asking. 

She slid one hand under his wrist, holding it up so she could run her fingertips along his palm.  The hard surfaces shone black in the pale light.  “Feel that?” she asked.

He nodded, swallowing as he stared blindly at the TV.  A muscle worked in his jaw.  He let out a stuttered, uneven breath.

“If this bothers you I can stop,” she offered gently.

Shaking his head, he rasped, “It does, a bit.  But don’t stop.”

He’d grown accustomed to her hand in his, to putting his arms around her and being able to touch her casually.  But this kind of deliberate touch, this intense scrutiny, was deeply personal in a way she’d never touched him before.

Well… maybe that one time.  But this time he could move.  Could take his hand back if he wanted.  Could get up and walk away.  There was nothing stopping him.  Somehow that made this even harder.

Her fingertips caught on the silicone pads of his fingers, pressing into the grips.  She turned his hand over, gently brushing over the backs of his knuckles before lowering her head to press her lips there.

His gaze flashed to hers at the unexpected gesture, and her eyes held his as she turned his hand to kiss his palm.  He bowed his head against the onslaught, swallowing hard. 

“Adam… are you sure this is alright?”

“I’m sure,” came his choked reply.

Her touch didn’t feel the same as if it was his real, living hand.  Her breath on his palm didn’t tickle.  His pulse didn’t jump against her skin.  But she was treating him like what she was touching was precious and fragile and worth being touched.  And that felt good in a way that clutched around his heart like a vise.

He lightly kneaded the muscle just above her knee with his free hand, mostly for something to do, but otherwise sat passive, letting her explore.

She worked her way up his arm, touching every ridge and port and sliding her fingers along the synthetic muscle fibres, exploring every square inch of the sleek black limb as Adam watched-and-didn’t-watch, heart in his throat.

Her hands were light and gentle and curious, pressing into the softer muscle strands and tapping a fingernail on the solid, harder pieces.  “What does that feel like?”

Looking down at where she drummed on his forearm, he replied, “It feels like if you tapped on my chest armor.  I can feel it from beneath, but there’s no sensation in the hard pieces on the surface.”

She nodded.  Pulling her legs out of his lap, she tucked them under her as she rose up on her knees to run her fingers along the ridges of his bicep.  Out of the corner of his eye he caught a distracted smile pull at the corner of her mouth, and despite himself he turned to watch her face as she examined her way toward his shoulder.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she said under her breath.

He stiffened and she wrapped a hand around his bicep, meeting his eyes from inches away.  “I mean that.  All of you.  The parts you were born with and the parts you weren’t.  Because they’re all a part of you now.  And Adam?”

His eyes held hers, and in that moment she was the most terrifying thing he’d ever faced. 

She was a force to be reckoned with, and he was not entirely sure he was up for the challenge.  “Yeah?”

“I can’t love parts of you and not the others.  That’s not how I work.  I’m an all-or-nothing kind of woman.  I can’t love your smile and not your hands.  Your voice and not your eyes.  You have very kind eyes, Adam.”

His eyes fell closed as his forehead dropped to her shoulder and he just sat like that, trying to remember how to breathe.

“So when I say that your arms are beautiful and I love them, I’m saying it because they’re a part of you.  I don’t want pieces of you, Adam.  I want all of you.  From your metal toes to your ridiculous hair…”

“Hey,” he said, raising his head to look at her accusingly.

“...to that incredible synthetic heart of yours.”  She let go of his hand to press hers against his chest, feeling the staccato beat of his racing heart beneath her palm.  “I love you, Adam.”

She barely had the chance to finish the words before he pulled her into a crushing hug.  She found herself half on his lap with those amazing arms wrapped as far around her as they could go and his face mashed into her shoulder.  Pulling her pinned arm out from between them, she slid her own arms around his back, gripping her fingers hard into the muscle there.

They sat like that, wrapped up in each other while Faridah blinked back tears and held on for dear life and Adam tried to figure out what had just happened and if this was a dream.

If it was, he never wanted to wake up.

They let go by degrees a long time later, relaxing into each other.  She slid back, still sitting on him but giving herself enough space to see his face clearly.

A soft smile crinkled his eyes and lit his face from within.  He leaned forward, engaging her in a long, languid kiss as his hands rested lightly on her hips.

Eventually she climbed off his lap, getting up and going into the kitchen to put the kettle on like she hadn’t just tipped over his world.

 

DE

 

Adam’s next mission went to hell in a handbasket.  Their intel was bad or his scouting had tipped someone off or it was just one of those fucking bad luck missions and instead of a quick in-and-out without being detected he was being hunted by, at last guess, about thirty heavily armed guards.

An EMP grenade landed next to him in the vent.  He stared at it, unimpressed and unaffected as it went off in a ball of static.  Someone aimed a machine pistol and blind-fired up the shaft towards him, forcing him to scramble back and around the corner.  Two lucky bullets pinged off his back armor, chipping the paint and annoying the hell out of Adam, but he was otherwise unharmed.

Crawling straight ahead while bullets pinged harmlessly down the shaft he’d just left, he turned on his glass-shield cloak, peered out of another access panel and downed two guards with head shots from his silenced pistol.  He ducked back in before the other three took note, heading past the opening and away from the guys who’d already shot at him.

“Adam,” Eliza’s voice came over his infolink, “They have called for backup.”

He swore long and hard under his breath.  “Where’s it coming from?” he subvocalized.

“Helicopter on the roof.  ETA seven minutes.”

“Guess I need to be out of here before then.”  The roof was three floors up, and if he wanted to get out before they could shoot at Malik he was going to have to take a few risks.

“Faridah, I’m gonna need you to come get me,” he said, patching her in to the conversation with Eliza.

“Things go badly?” she asked.  Over the comms he could hear the hum of the engines starting to spool up.

“Yeah.  Be careful.  There’s backup on the way.  ETA under seven minutes.  They’ll be coming in the same way you are and I don’t know if their bird is armed.  The guys in here with me are.”

“Okay.  On my way.  Timing will be tight.  Stay safe Adam.”

“You too.  See you soon.”

As reunions went, this one was not shaping up to be his favourite.

The wrong bird was coming in for a landing as he reached the roof, the mounted turret already turning to track him, and two guards were hot on his tail.  “Malik, I really hope you’re nearby because I am about to be cut to pieces.”

“Take a running leap off the east side of the roof, dead center,” she said.  “I got you.”

Well, if he missed at least the Icarus landing system would catch him on the ground.  Barring him taking out Malik on the way.  Bullets peppered the rooftop all around him as he broke into a run and jumped.

_Phoenix_ hovered just below the lip of the building, and he did a cannonball through the open side door, hitting sideways into the opposite wall.

“If that’s not you, Adam, I am going to be pissed.”

“Get us out of here,” he called back.

“Getting,” she replied.

Her chosen method of ‘getting’ was not really what he’d had in mind.

The helicopter behind them was big, and had mounted guns on both sides.  Which were currently taking over where the ground force had left off, strafing the open door with a fresh hail of bullets. 

“Hang on!” shouted Faridah, tilting the VTOL and plastering him against the inside of the closed cargo door as she burned hard down the street, weaving between the buildings.  Once she got straight, she levelled out the bird and he bolted for the open door, sliding it shut.  Staggering like a drunk, he pulled himself into the co-pilot’s seat and strapped in.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” he said drily.

“Not now.  Trying to not get us both killed,” she replied, intent on the controls.

He shut up and let her do her thing.

Faridah took a hard banking turn down a side street as bullets pinged off the tail, dipping the bird down just above the streetlights and missing the side of a building by a couple of feet.  Adam thought he caught a few terrified expressions from within, but they were moving so fast he might have imagined it.

Faridah kept them fast and low, twisting and turning through the streets, putting more and more distance between them and the much slower chopper as they went.  Finally she reached a cluster of high rise buildings and, breaking line of sight with their pursuers, gunned it for the clouds.

Within a couple of minutes they were clear of the threat, though Faridah kept _Phoenix_ high and fast just to be sure.

“I knew you were a good pilot, but _damn_ ,” Adam broke the silence when he was half-sure she wouldn’t tear his head off for doing so.

Flashing an elated, feral grin, she settled back in her seat.  “Yeah too bad my current employer doesn’t have me on missions like that more often.”

It occurred to him that she may be crazier than he was.

“I’d really rather not get chased out of my operations by dozens of men with guns,” he deadpanned.

“Party pooper.”

“Everybody’s a critic.”

“You come out of that with any extra holes?” she asked.

“Not that I can tell, but I’ll have to check later.  How’s _Phoenix_?”

“Flying straight and true.  No damage to anything important, far as I can tell.”  She eyed the seat beneath him and couldn’t find any new red.  “I think you’re fine, Spyboy.”

“And as of today you have earned your nickname, Flygirl.”

“As if that was in any doubt,” she huffed.

 

DE

 

Dawn filtered in through the blinds, highlighting Faridah’s profile as she stirred eggs on the stove.  Her hair was doing an excellent impression of a hedgehog, standing on end and sticking out in all directions.  Her bare toes gripped the faux-wood floor and she yawned into a cup of coffee.

Whatever words Adam had intended to say died on his lips as he turned the corner to see her faintly glowing in the morning light.  His heart did a skydive into his stomach as his mouth suddenly went dry.

She stood intently staring at the eggs in the pan before her, completely oblivious.

He paused, drinking her in, and another statement altogether flowed out without asking his permission or intention.

“I love you,” he said.

She dropped the spatula into the pan.  Picked it back up with a shaking hand, setting it carefully on the stove next to the element.  Turned towards him.  “What brought that on?” she asked softly.

A soft smile pulled at his lips.  “You did.”

Abandoning her coffee on the counter, she took two huge strides to him, jumping into his arms, framing his face with her hands and kissing him soundly.

He held her up easily, hands under her thighs as he grinned into her lips.

She pulled back to stare down into his eyes.  “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

A sly smile took over his face.  “None whatsoever.  Maybe you should show me again.”

She cupped her hands around his jaw and slowly bent down, drawing him back into a long, unhurried kiss.  “A lot, Adam.” 

He let her down slowly, sliding down his body.  Looking up into his eyes, she added, “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing so hard her arms hurt.  His heartbeat pounded against her ear as he pulled her in tight.  “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured, I am still working on this. It's been a busy couple of weeks. I should get back to a better posting schedule again now.


	11. The Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things never go smoothly for Adam. Why should this be any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Drake: don't read this yet. You can read this after I publish the next chapter.
> 
> To everyone else: sorry this took so long to put up. I've been stalling out and allowing life to distract me. Plus I was never really happy with how this turned out. But it's time to let it go. I think it's as good as I can make it.
> 
> Please leave a comment, and thanks for sticking with this. There's more to come.

The engines hummed as Faridah set _Phoenix_ down softly on a rooftop landing pad, barely making a sound as the wheels made contact.  She unstrapped and leaned back in her pilot’s seat to wait like she had hundreds of times in her life. 

Unlike hundreds of other times, her heart fluttered in her chest as she watched for her client.

Six weeks. Six weeks of phone calls and messages.  Six weeks of Adam being gone, one mission running into another into another.

She couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or strangle him.

When he climbed in next to her, weariness in every line of his body, she knew.

Her hands clenched in her lap.

There were two holes in his chest armor. 

Not dings.

Holes.

As in fucking armor-piercing rounds. Jagged and dented in around the edges.  Penetrated all the way through and showing the black of his shirt beneath.  She wondered how far inside him those rounds had gone, equal parts terrified and livid.

“If those didn’t happen in the last two hours you are in deep shit, Jensen,” she warned, her voice lethally flat.

There was no blood on the armor.  It had been cleaned since the injury.  So no way in hell did that happen today.

Looking down, he thumbed the edge of one of the holes.  “Last mission,” he replied.

Her head whipped around so fast it nearly hurt, heart turned to stone and sinking.  “You could have gotten killed last mission and you never even told me?” her voice came out hoarse and jagged.  Quiet.  With an edge of barely-contained panic.  Fingernails biting into her palms, she levelled him with a withering gaze.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” came his bullshit reply.

Oh so he was going to play that card.

“I have had my hand in your chest.  I can handle a bit of worry.  _And you do not get to omit shit like this because I’m delicate and need protection,_ ” she added, deadly soft.  “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?”

“Of course I did.  I just wanted to tell you in person.  Look it’s been a long few weeks.  Can we do this later?  I missed-”

“It’s been a long few weeks because you wouldn’t come home.  You don’t get to use that as an excuse.  You don’t get to just decide to put off telling me until you decide I need to know.  I deserve to know if you’re _this_ fucking close to death.”  Faridah held her hand between them, thumb and forefinger millimeters apart.  Her bored through the windshield as she slammed the buckles home on her safety harness.  “Strap the fuck in.  You can be reckless with your life when I’m not around.  And I don’t want you breaking my bird if the shit hits the fan.”

Adam was pretty sure it already had.  Yanking the seatbelt so hard it nearly tore from the wall, he did as he was told.

She flashed him a glare at the near damage to her bird before smoothly lifting them into the air, her hands steady despite the hard set of her lips and the stiff lines of her body in the pilot’s seat.

The silence held the entire way home.  Malik shot daggers at him every so often, but she didn’t speak.

Adam watched her out of the corner of his eye, drinking in the profile he’d missed so much.  He hadn’t meant to keep this from her, but in the heat of the moment and the blaze of gunfire, and then the pain of recovery after, it seemed like the kind of thing he should tell her to her face.  She wasn’t supposed to find out like this. But he’d forgotten in his eagerness to see her again.  So he sat in silence

Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth by the time they set down in Prague, and she climbed out of _Phoenix_ and stalked into the apartment without looking back.

Adam followed like a pale shadow in her wake, dragging his feet as he returned to the place he’d missed so badly.

The hard lines of her back proved an impenetrable wall as Faridah set the kettle to boiling. Adam opened his mouth to speak.  Closed it again with a faint click.  Reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

Stopped himself short.

Just stood there, staring.  Wanting nothing more than to reach out and pull her into his arms and tell her how much he missed her.

Now she felt farther away than when he was actually gone.

She all but ignored him as she moved around the apartment, doing make-work chores to keep from having to sit still.

Or face him.  Listen to him.

Talk to him.

He finally gave up, unpacking his bag and going over his weapons in his workshop.  Something to do, at least.

A couple hours later, as she walked by the open door as Adam held the damaged chest piece in his hands, inspecting it.  Taking a hard left into the room, she moved to stand in front of him, hand out. 

“Give me that,” she demanded.

The raised edges around the jagged holes caught the lamplight, glinting faintly as he handed it over.  She took it, testing the size of the holes with a fingertip.  “Did you need medical attention?”

He shook his head.  “The first one stuck to a rib.  Second just missed my lung.  The sentinel spat it back out a few minutes later.  Needed a mechanic to remove the first bullet and replace a couple of ribs.”

It was all she could do to keep from throwing it at him.  “You selfish bastard,” she gritted out, thrusting the metal piece back into his hands.  A choked sound escaped her as she fled the room, and him.

“Faridah wait,” he called after her. He set the armor behind him blindly, missing the table.  It clattered to the floor as he rushed after her.

He caught up with her out on the patio, grasping her arm and pulling her up short.

Her eyes burned holes in his fingers where they held her. 

“Talk to me,” he all but begged as he loosened his grip.

“You mean like the way you talked to me?  The way you called me to tell me the mission went sour and you got hurt and wanted to come home?  You were _dying_ a few weeks ago and never even told me.  You could have bled out somewhere and I would never have…” her hand snapped to her mouth, choking off a sob.

Adam pulled her into his arms.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”  This is why he’d never pursued a relationship since his resurrection.  His life, the danger he lived, was nothing to inflict on someone else.  It was too great a burden to share.

“Goddamn it Adam.  You can’t do this shit to me,” she said, slamming her hand flat on his chest.  Stiffening, she pried his arms off.  Swiped a hand over one eye, then the other, rubbing it on her pant leg.  “You can’t just hug it better, either.  I mean, if you can keep this from me, what else haven’t you been telling me?  We’re supposed to be a team, and you’re just parsing out information like we’re on a need-to-know basis.”

“What do you want me to say?”  Adam turned from her, pacing the terrace as he spoke.  “I’m used to keeping my work life and my home life separate.  I try not to track the shit that I wade through on a daily basis through the place I live.  I got shot.  It happens more than you might think.  The Sentinel kicked in and I was fine in a matter of minutes.  It hurt like a bitch but I was fine.  Do you really need to know about every little injury I take in the field?”

“ _Little injury?_   Those bullets went _through your armor_.  If the one had been a little higher it could have nicked a lung.  What if the other had shattered your rib?  The shrapnel could have lodged in your heart, or the Sentinel behind it.  How would you feel if I showed up with a few new holes in _Phoenix_ that I never told you about?”

He glared.  “That’s different.”

“Different how?  In that I don’t dodge bullets on a regular basis, or that you deserve to know if you came close to losing me but it doesn’t go the other way?  I am not Megan and you aren’t a cop anymore.  So that confidentiality I-can’t-talk-to-you-about-this thing is bullshit.  You can talk to me.  I’m one of two people you actually _can_ talk to about this.  But you won’t.  I told you before I can’t love just pieces of you.  It’s all or nothing.  But right now all you’re giving me is fragments.  A half-told truth is as good as a lie, Adam. And I won’t fucking stand here and let you lie to me.”

His heart froze.  The words came out quiet, all he could do to push them past the fear lodged in his throat. “Faridah, what are you trying to say?” 

He’d thought they were having an argument, but she was talking like this was the end.

Pain twisted through him and his eyes drifted closed.  The sentinel could heal almost anything, but not this.  A pain every bit as sharp and killing as the bullets.  Yet somehow numbing at the same time.

Her hand came up, dragging jerkily through her hair.  “Look, I’m not saying pack your stuff and get out.  But if this is the way it’s going to be between us, it’s not enough for me.”  She brushed past him as she went inside.

His limbs were leaden as he watched her go.

Adam slept on the couch that night.

He wanted, so desperately, to walk down the hallway and climb in next to her.  To wrap his arms around her like he’d been aching to do for six weeks.  To let her wash away the stench of the lives he’d taken and the people who’d tried to end him.  He’d give just about anything for her to smile at him, tell him she missed him, and pull him into her arms.

Right about now, stretched out on the godforsaken place where she’d first told him she loved him, with one of her soft blankets wrapped around him like a shroud, he wondered if he’d ever get to do any of those things again.

Breakfast the next morning was awful.  Their eyes refused to meet, skittering away if they came close.  He brushed past her once, shoulder touching hers by accident, and she flinched.

Flinched.

Like he’d hurt her.  By barely touching her.

The backs of his eyes stung.  Every breath felt like splinters inside his chest.

While she carried on like he wasn’t there.  Like she wanted him gone.

Afternoon rolled around and the silence yet reigned; shattered glass around them, cutting and lethal for all its invisibility.  Until Faridah came to sit on the coffee table in front of where Adam sat, stripping his revolver.  Taking it gently from his hands, she set it down beside her.  “Adam.”  Cocking her head, she gazed at him evenly.

Exhaustion and resignation pulled at his features, and his eyes were shuttered.  She leaned forward to cup his jaw, running her thumb across the hollow of his cheek.  “I missed you,” she said, and his own eyes closed as he leaned into the warmth of her palm.  Hand coming up to cover hers, his head drifted forwards until his forehead found hers.

“I missed you so much,” he choked out.  “I’m sorry.  You deserved to know.  I should have…”

“I worry about you.  Like, all the time,” she interjected, saving him from having to find the words.  “You have a dangerous job, and every time you walk out the door, I might never see you again.  When I find out that you were hurt and didn’t tell me, that makes me worry more.  Like what else aren’t you telling me?  I don’t want to think you’re fine out there and then have Eliza inform me that you’re dead.” 

His eyes opened to find hers closing and he pulled her into his lap, sliding back into the couch with her in his arms.  Feeling home for the first time since they’d arrived.

She leaned her face into his neck as Adam’s hand stroked up and down her back.  “Come sleep in the bed tonight,” she said quietly.  “It’s bad enough sleeping alone when you’re not here.  It’s torture when you are.”

“Tell me about it,” he replied.  “I was looking forward to wrapping myself around you for the last six weeks.”

She laughed, a short, half-bitter sound.  “Me too.”  Leaning away from him, she caught his gaze.  “This doesn’t mean what happened was okay.  This problem doesn’t evaporate because I’d rather touch you than not.”

Nodding, he hummed his assent.  “I know.”

“Okay, good.”  With that, she finally, _finally_ kissed him.  He pressed into it, losing himself in her warm, soft lips on his.  In the mingling of their breath.  In the hands that gripped his shoulders, anchoring him.  Faridah: his oasis of calm in the chaos that was his life.

They hovered close for the rest of the day, needing to touch even more than usual after his long absence and their fight. 

They tangled around each other in bed that night, wound as tightly as they could be. Holding each other close. 

By the time he left for the next mission three days later, things were back to normal between them; the edge of pain gone.

For a while.

The next couple of missions were par for the course: he was gone for a couple of weeks, then back for a few days.

But then the missions started getting longer again.  And without ever meaning to, Adam would string more missions together without coming home at all.

They used to see each other for a week or so out of any given month.  Six months after moving in together, it was down to a couple days.

 

DE

 

Faridah was on an emergency mission to deliver nupoz to a refugee camp in Siberia, so Adam ended up catching a ride home with one of Eliza’s other pilots. 

The apartment was dark and quiet when he arrived in the dead of night and for the first time, it didn’t feel like home.  It could have been any of a dozen places all around the world. Comfortable enough, but ultimately temporary.  Adam wondered when it had stopped feeling like a place where he belonged.

Or perhaps in his melancholia he simply forgot that Faridah was home, and any place she wasn’t would never feel quite right.

He dumped his gear on the floor in his office, stripping out of his clothes on the way to the shower.  The last mission went fine, but damn it was nice to take a shower in his own apartment after being gone for nearly two months.

That part felt a little like home.

By the time Faridah returned two days later, he was going stir crazy in the emptiness.

“Oh, hey,” she said with a tired smile as she dragged herself through the patio door.  “Sorry it took so long to make it back.  Shit kinda hit the fan.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.  They’d barely said two words via infolink in the time he’d been back.

She shrugged.  “One of my contacts got taken by a local gang.  It… didn’t go well.”

Heart aching for her, he pulled her into his arms.  She went passively, arms hanging by her side, and slumped against him with a choked sob.  “They returned his body in pieces.”

“Shit, Malik.  I’m so sorry.”

She could still see the crate, wood stained red in places from the inside.  The jagged bones of what took her too long and not long enough to realise was a forearm jutting out the top, glistening white in the moonlight…

She’d known him.  His kind voice, shy smile.  The way he used to wear those hideous brown suits, always a size too big.  Blond hair always hanging in his eyes.  He was handsome, but clueless of that fact. 

And now he was meat and bone in a hole in the ground.  A stain on a box.  His kind eyes closed forever.  Or staring lifelessly.  She hadn’t stuck around to see that much.

Faridah should be upset that she’d lost a friend.  But even as she’d stood there, trying not to vomit at the stench and the horrific pile of human that her brain fought not to identify, all she could see was Adam.

He fought people like that all the time.  Alone.  And some day, he wouldn’t be fast enough.  She slipped out of the man in question’s arms, brushing at her cheeks.  “I need to shower for a week and sleep for a month.”

“Anything I can do?” he asked. 

She held up her bag.  “Throw my clothes in the washer?”

“Done,” he replied with a gentle press of lips to her forehead.

A trail of clothes appeared on the bathroom floor as Faridah stripped on her way into the shower.  Standing under the spray with her forehead against the cool tile as hot water blasted down on her shoulders, she let the tears fall. 

Adam sipped a cup of coffee at the island as she came out pink from the heat and already in a pair of flannel pants and one of his shirts.  He nodded to the kettle and watched her bare feet as she crossed the floor to make herself a cup of tea.  “So,” she said as she poured the water, back to him, “You’ve been away a long time.”

“The missions ran together.  You know how it can get.”

She did.  Especially lately. 

She wilted before his eyes, sagging against the counter.  “Adam, what are we doing?”

His heart stuttered in his chest. 

He wanted to not understand the question.  Where it was coming from and where it was going.  Wanted to say something glib like, _Your guess is as good as mine_ or some other bullshit.  Instead, he said the truth: “I… I don’t even know anymore.”

“I can feel you slipping away.”  Further into the darkness that would eventually claim him, one way or another.

He felt it too.  The growing distance between them.  The way the work was pulling him away from everything good and calm and peaceful in the world.

The teaspoon pinged against the sides of her mug as she stirred. Setting it down on the counter, she wrapped her hands around the warm cup and turned to face him.  “I understand your mission.  I really do.  You are one of a handful of people in the world that knows about the people at the top, pulling the strings.  And you have the training and the means to do something about it.  But Adam.  At what cost?”

He just sat there.  Hands on the counter next to his coffee.  Meeting her eyes with the weight of a distance he didn’t know how to span between them.

Adam had been through this before.  The slowly broadening expanse.  Watching everything but the feelings slip away.  Helpless to stop it. 

Except last time it had been Megan.  She, in her guilt and obsession with her work, had been the one to break them.

Now he knew how it felt to be on the other side.  To choose the job over the person.  He wondered if, at the time, it had hurt her as much as it was hurting him now.

“This pace, this headlong rush into the teeth of danger.  It’s going to get you killed.  I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch it happen,” her voice came out slow and even.  Exhausted.

“I know.  I would never expect you to.”

“And I can’t ask you to stop.  Even though I would really, really like to.  This is too important for me to force you to choose.”

He wanted to pick up his mug and fling it through the window.  To pull the bookshelves from the wall and let them crash to the floor.  To take the home they’d built and reduce it to rubble like he was doing to the life they’d wanted.  But he didn’t.  He sat there like an adult and spoke softly and stayed where he was instead of torturing himself further by pulling her to him and pretending for a few precious minutes that this wasn’t the end.

His only regret was that they couldn’t have had more time.  Or all of it.  That fate had dealt him the responsibility of being David to the Illuminati’s Goliath.

The silence stretched out between them, foreboding and ominous where it had once been peaceful.  Finally she broke it with a sad smile.  “It’s been a long couple of days.  I’m going to bed.”

Adam nodded.

He waited until the apartment was quiet and she’d had time to fall asleep.  He hoped she’d fall asleep.  The thought of her lying there awake as he packed his things in the other room was unbearable.  So when enough time had passed, he went into the spare bedroom and carefully put his guns and ammunition in a bag, with his brown jacket and his armor.  His clothes were already packed for the next mission, and he grabbed the bag.  Glancing around the darkened apartment, he felt a brief pang for how little he needed to take with him.  Maybe he’d never really lived there in the first place.

He wrote a quick note and left it by the coffee machine.  She’d see it first thing in the morning.

In the dead of night, he slipped away, a single solitary figure, blending into the darkness.

 

DE

 

 

She found the note in the morning:

_Faridah,_

_I’m sorry.  My only regret is that I hurt you.  The rest was worth it.  I love you.  Always._

_-Adam_

“I love you too,” she whispered, running her fingertips over his scrawled printing.

Two days later when she was going stir-crazy and decided to take _Phoenix_ out for a spin, she climbed into the cockpit to find a book sitting on the pilot’s seat.  It was a paperback, the cover black and adorned with a cartoony, over-the-top illustration.  The title, in bold print above, read _Night Watch_.

He’d left her his favourite book.  The one he’d pressed between them as he’d kissed her for the first time all those months ago.  She held the volume to her chest as she tried to breathe.  Eventually she brought herself to set it down, reaching into the depths of the black leather coat that still hung off the back of her seat, sliding it into the inner pocket.

Somehow it made her feel like he was still watching over her.  With a faint smile, she started up the V-TOL.

“Cassan?” she asked, patching a call through.

“Yes, Malik?”

“Do me a favor.  If Adam dies, please let me know.”

Seconds of dead air stretched between them, static-y and sharp.

“Alright.  Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.  That’s more than enough.  Thanks.”  The words came out soft, and kind.

“Malik?  I’m sorry.”

“Me too.  Over and out.”

 

DE

 

A few days after leaving Prague, Adam was about to head out on recon.  “Eliza?”

“Yes, Adam.”

“Do me a favor.  If, and when I die, don’t tell Faridah.  I’d rather she think of me alive and well.”  He strapped on his holster, checking and rechecking his revolver and pistol before sliding them home against his chest armor.

“No.”

He froze.  “What do you mean, no?”  His voice took on a hard edge.

“If you are dead, then your feelings on the matter will not be as important as hers.  And she has requested to be informed should you perish.”

Holy fuck did that hit him like a spear to the chest.  “What good would it do?”

“I believe that under this arrangement, she will know that as long as I have not informed her of your demise, you are alive and well.  She won’t have to ask, or worry, or wonder.”

Goddamnit why did this have to hurt so much.

“Alright.  If the worst happens, try to break it gently.”

“I will do my best.”

“I know you will, Eliza.  Thanks.”

 

DE

 

Nights were hardest; when he was in his room and getting ready for bed and the silence was deafening.  That little name on the top right corner of his HUD, reminding him of his habitual night time call.  It would be so easy just to select it.  To hear her voice again.  Say sorry.  Take it all back and go back to what they’d been.

But he’d still be out here, chasing ghosts.  They’d been a couple for over six months and he was home for maybe thirty days if you added all the days together.  If even that.

He missed falling asleep to her voice.  Or catching one of her messages as he finished a mission and turned off privacy mode.  Somewhere in a file he had them all saved.

He abjectly refused to find that file.  Even though he knew precisely where it was.

Sleep came only after hours of staring at a ceiling in the dark, wondering where Faridah was, and what she was doing.

 

DE

 

Adam stayed out of Prague if he could get away with it, but Vaclav was the best mechanic he knew and Vera had sent over everything he might need to repair Adam’s augs, so he remained Adam’s go-to mechanic if he was anywhere in the eastern hemisphere.

He’d popped in a couple of times since he’d moved out of Prague, once to replace some muscle fibers in his leg and the other to install Vaclav’s custom-made anti-Headhunter software.

This time he’d been in Russia, and some guard with a blade had gotten too close and done some damage to his forearm.  His fingers hadn’t closed properly in the two days since, so he’d made the trip to The Time Machine to get proper repairs done.

He was in the chair, Vaclav bent over his open arm, tsk-ing at the damage as per usual, when he heard a familiar voice.  “Vaclav, you have any time to…”

Her voice dropped off as she came around the corner.  “Oh, sorry.  I didn’t know you were with someone.  I’ll just…”  All she could see were the feet in the chair and she turned her back for the patient’s privacy.

“It’s alright.  Come in, Faridah.”

Shit.  It’s been over three months since she’s heard that voice and for a split second she’s back in a time and a place where…

She viciously cut off the thought.  They were over.  Done.  She doesn’t go back to those memories anymore.  Even though they still follow her around like phantoms clinging to her skin.

“Hey, Adam.  Long-time no see.”  Like it was just that easy.  Casual conversation between acquaintances, rather than torturous small talk with the person she was still in love with.

“Oh, heeeey Mal.  Nice to see you,” piped in Vaclav in a too-chipper tone.

“More bullets?” she asked, aiming the question at her ex.

Adam shook his head.  “Naw.  Just some routine maintenance.  I don’t keep up with it like I should.”

Well that didn’t surprise her one bit.  She grabbed a stool, pulling it over next to Vaclav and sitting down.  “How have the missions been going?”  Like there was anything else she could ask him about.  Those missions were literally his life.

He made a discontented sound in his throat.  “Leads drying up.  It’s frustrating.”

Well.  There wasn’t much she could say to that.  No real advice she could offer on finding his way again.  Personally, she thought he’d be better if he stopped altogether.  But that wouldn’t be a welcome, or helpful, suggestion.  “Have you tried Pritchard?”

Koller grunted as he pulled a piece of metal out of Adam’s arm, holding it up like an angry Italian grandmother and glaring past it at the man with the beautiful augs who didn’t appreciate them or treat them the way they deserved.  How come the finest ones always went to jerks who mistreated them?

“Not sure he could do anything _E_ couldn’t.  But it might help to have a new pair of eyes on it.  I’ll try that, thanks.”  He tilted his head, noting that she looked exactly the same as he remembered, save a tiredness around the eyes that was new.  “And how have you been?”

She shrugged and met his gaze.  “The apartment feels empty without you.” 

It wasn’t meant as a guilt trip or an invitation.  Just the unvarnished truth.  A specialty of hers.  It hit him like a hammer to the chest.  He flinched, just barely, before he could stop himself.

Ignoring his reaction, she continued, “Other than that, things have been pretty much the same.  Had a few near-run-ins with the law, but the locals had my back.  Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Things like this were why he didn’t stay in touch.  Even three months later the thought of her in danger terrified him.  He wanted to park himself at her back and never leave.  She should have back-up.

But by that logic, shouldn’t he?

She levelled him with a knowing look.  “My job gets dangerous too, Adam.  From time to time.  But I’m careful, and the people I work with value my services too much not to fight for me.”

He nodded, but she knew that tightness around his mouth well enough to see he wasn’t happy.  Strange how she could still read him even after this time.

“Almost done here,” Vaclav said as he began to put Adam’s arm back together.  “What do you need today, Mal?”

“Just a tweak on my neurals.  The interface has gone a bit glitchy on me the last couple of days.”

“I have time for that.”

“Thanks.”

Adam caught the faint scent of oranges as he climbed out of the chair.  “It… It was nice to see you, Faridah.”  That was a lie, and it wasn’t.  It was always nice to see her.  And it hurt like a red-hot poker to the chest.

“You too, Adam.  Good to see you still in one piece.”  The distance between them was there in her voice, and her eyes.

He nodded.  Thanked Vaclav.  And left, silently promising himself to check before coming next time.  This was torture he didn’t care to repeat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened. I promise this isn't the end. There's plenty of Adam/Malik shippyness to come, and the whole breakup thing serves a purpose. I just had an epiphany about something I'd stalled on two chapters from now, so hopefully that'll get me jump-started again. And I don't do sad endings. So as long as I actually finish this, it'll come around to a good place eventually. The next chapter's already written. I just need to get it edited and put it out. Somebody come in here and kick my ass if it isn't up within a couple weeks.


	12. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam gets a rude awakening that leads to an unexpected rescue mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this turned out to be a fucking monster of a chapter. It was huge to start with, and kept getting longer with every edit. And I was never really happy with it. But I think it's time to release it into the world, flawed as it may be. Thanks for your patience in my getting this out. I went and sprained my thumb, and it completely derailed me. But I'm healed up now. I hope you enjoy!

Red flared across Adam’s closed eyes.  His pistol was in his hand almost before he got to sitting, staring around the room in a desperate search for the danger.

Nothing.  Just blackness.  No sound.

A quick infravision scan showed him everyone nearby was walking, or standing.  Or sleeping.  Normal daytime activities.  Not a one advancing on his room with a weapon.

Something was still buzzing in his brain, and the edges of his vision tinged red.

_What the?_

_Oh._

An emergency call alert, breaking through his privacy settings.

All that panic and confusion for nothing.  Well.  Not nothing, maybe. 

The frequency wasn’t one he recognised, and so he hesitated before connecting.

How did this person even get his frequency in the first place.

Adam knew his security protocols were already hard at work partitioning the signal from any sensitive data like his contacts list, call history, and his location, so he decided to trust Pritchard’s skills as a programmer, and allow the call.

The arrogant jerk should be honored.

Probably wouldn’t though.

Adam rested his pistol in his lap as the call went through, finger just off the trigger.  It wasn’t in his nature to face the unknown without arming himself.  Even if said pistol wouldn’t help him if this was an attempted hack intrusion.

The call connected.

Adam was immediately transported to a dark hallway, who-knew-how-far away.  Seeing through unknown eyes as they walked- no.  Were pushed.  Stumbling into the cheap, worn wooden paneling and given no time to steady themselves before moving again.

Closing his eyes, he focused on what the call was showing him, at least sparing himself the double-vision of his own surroundings.  Deep, unintelligible voices sounded behind his proxy as they moved.  The person was moving too fast, too jerkily to catch much detail in the poorly-lit space as they moved.

Adam’s HUD flashed in the corner of his vision: _Live._ _One-way feed_.  So this was happening to someone as he watched.  And whoever was sending the signal wasn’t looking to talk.  They were looking to tell.

He had to fight the urge to turn his head.  To activate his infravision, and take in as much information as possible.  But he wasn’t actually there.  And he had no control of the poor soul who’s infolink they’d jacked into.  All he could do was watch.  And listen.

The person lurched to the right and he didn’t have time to orient himself or even catch a glimpse of the face he was inside before the mirror on the wall came to meet it with a resounding _crack_ that echoed in the room.  Blood trailed down from the center of the spider web that snaked across the reflective surface, and it took him a second to find the person’s face in the kaleidoscope of reflections.

Caramel-and-coffee eyes. 

His entire world tipped sideways and splintered like that mirror.

“No,” he whispered, not even realising he spoke the word aloud, alone in his hotel room.  _Please,_ his thoughts added.  _Not her.  Not…_

He was cold to the core in an instant, and his psyche shuddered at the thought of what he might be about to watch, useless and too far away to help her.

Those familiar eyes met his through the mirror, though he knew she couldn’t see him.  They flashed defiance and anger.  Not even the barest hint of fear.  Chin raised and jutting out stubbornly.

Panic clawed at his throat; if she expected to live, she’d be more afraid.

Despite himself, despite that fear threatening to swamp him under, he was proud of her.  Of that refusal to be cowed, even in the face of impossible odds.

_That’s my girl._

She stared him down through the feed and he felt like she could see him.  Feel him.  Somehow on the other end of that call. 

And her gaze said one thing: _Show no mercy: Kill every last one of these fuckers._

_Goddamn it._ Killing them all wouldn’t bring her back.

He wanted Faridah alive, and couldn’t give a fuck about these faceless pricks.

It finally occurred to him that he’d need Eliza and Pritchard’s help if he hoped to find her, and he patched them in, partitioning them off from each other and muting both of them.

The view changed to a face; pale skin and blue eyes with a scar down one cheek.  “Hello, Adam.”

He wanted to reach through the call and pull the man to pieces with his bare hands.

Okay so maybe he did care about these pricks.  But getting Faridah back was his priority.

The man smiled; calm and friendly.  As though they were talking about the weather.  Adam’s teeth ground together so hard it hurt.  “I bet you’re wondering who I am and what I want from you?”

“I’m wondering where you are and plotting your slow, painful death,” Adam responded in a threatening growl, knowing the fucker couldn’t hear him.

“Well, a few months back me and some of my friends were just trying to make an honest living and this _asshole_ came along and broke the neck of a good friend of mine.  It took a long, long time to figure out who you actually were, and even longer to find a weakness we could exploit.  Imagine our surprise when we tracked down an old co-worker and discovered she had pictures like _this_ saved on her black box.”

A series of images flashed up and he heard a whimper. 

Whatever they were doing to hack into Faridah’s neurals, it hurt. 

There was one of him in the co-pilot’s seat, smiling.  Another of him fast asleep on the couch asleep with a book on his chest.  Yet another of him sprawled on his back out on the patio, looking shocked and bemused.  He remembered that one.

“See, we were going to use her as leverage, based on the assumption that a former cop would want to save his old co-worker.  But finding out you were lovers, or at least that she was a creepy stalker and was obsessed with you, was just gravy.”

“I will kill you and if I’m lucky I’ll get to do it slowly,” Adam promised , a whispered oath in the dark room.  Text flashed along the bottom of his HUD as Eliza and Pritchard asked questions in a rapid-fire scrawl of text, panicked at his lack of answer. 

He ignored every word.

“So what I want from you is this: being as you’re so good at eluding capture from a trained unit, we think you’d make for an excellent recruit.  But since we can’t trust you at our backs, we’re going to send you out on your own.  With a little insurance for your behaviour here.”  He reached forward, presumably patting Faridah’s cheek.  A second later a loud slap sounded and Adam’s vision snapped to the side.  The calm expression on the Headhunter’s face turned to annoyance.  “Don’t bite.  Or I will have to hurt you for real.”

Adam’s blood boiled.  If he still had the nanoblades he’d have already destroyed half his hotel room.

A file appeared on his HUD.  “This is the man we want you to bring in.  Dead or alive.  As long as his augments are intact.  You have thirty-six hours, or we start cutting off pieces of your girlfriend and sending them to you.”

The call disconnected, returning Adam to the dark room.

He left Pritchard partitioned off, unmuting Eliza.  “Adam, what...?”

“Are you willing to have Francis Pritchard in on your secret?” he asked, cutting her off.

The four seconds of silence was a very long time, for her.  “Do you believe that he can be trusted with such?”

“Eliza, I would never ask if it wasn’t Faridah.  This isn’t my secret to share and it puts you at risk…”

She didn’t even let him finish the thought.  “Patch him in.” 

Relief flooded him, and he forced himself to take a calming breath as he set his pistol on the bedside table and began getting dressed.  “Thank you,” he said, knowing what a risk she was taking here.

“You can thank me after we get her back, Adam.  Stop wasting time,” she replied.

He lowered the partition and unmuted Pritchard.  “Jensen!  What the fuck was…”

“Pritchard, Eliza.  Eliza, Pritchard,” Adam cut him off.

“Sending you the relevant information so Adam doesn’t have to explain, Francis,” Eliza added.

“What the…” Pritchard trailed off and went silent.

“Any way you could trace that call?” Adam asked, continuing the conversation with Eliza while Pritchard got himself up to speed on Eliza’s condition and capabilities.

“Unfortunately it seems to be routed through no fewer than three proxies,” said Eliza.

Adam swore long and hard under his breath, shirt halfway over his head.  “Any indications where they might be, based on the video?”

“I shall have to analyse it thoroughly.  There are background sounds, faint but detectable that may grant clues.”

“…Jensen, you have been holding out on me,” Pritchard cut back in suddenly.

Adam was back to sitting as he laced up his boots.

“Not my secrets to tell, Pritchard.”

“Feel free to ask any questions you have, Francis,” Eliza said in her usual singsong-y, even voice.

“I have plenty, but they’ll keep.  What do we know?”

Eliza answered: “ _Phoenix_ is still parked at Malik’s apartment.  She left her apartment on foot seven hours ago and never returned.”

“Wait,” said Adam, “You keep that close tabs on her?” Adam asked as he gathered up his things from the room, tossing clothes and a half-eaten box of cereal into his bag.

“Not usually, but these are extenuating circumstances.  I checked local footage.  There’s a camera dead spot that does not usually exist in that area, that she entered.  I can find no evidence of her leaving, so I have to assume she was taken there, and removed in a vehicle of some sort.”

So she could be anywhere within seven or so hours’ travel from Prague.

Adam swore again, snapping on his chest armor. 

He was going to need to hit one of his weapons caches.  The closest one was two hours by ground.  A quarter that by air.  But no point getting a lift if he had no idea where to head next.  Despair at his utter uselessness washed over him, and he growled into the empty room as he shrugged into his shoulder holster, checked his pistol and revolver, and slid them both home before pulling his trench coat on overtop.

“Hey Adam.  We care about her too.  We’ll do everything we can.”

It must be a cold day in hell if _Francis Pritchard_ was comforting him.  Or this was a really bad dream.

“Just point me at someone I can shoot.”

“That’s not the easiest thing to do.  These guys are professionals. They know how to cover their tracks in cyberspace.  This might take a bit to crack.”  Pritchard’s voice was devoid of its usual sarcastic snap; smooth and calm.

It was jarring and annoying and Adam wished the man would say something insulting so he had an excuse to snap at someone.

“And in the meantime they’re hurting Malik and there’s not a _goddamn_ thing I can do about it!” 

“Adam.  We’re doing the best we can,” Eliza’s voice was low and conciliatory.

He wished everyone would stop being so fucking patronising.

Adam closed his eyes and took two long, slow breaths.  “I… I know.  I know you are.  Both of you.  Thanks.”  No point in alienating them.  They hadn’t done anything wrong

“Look Adam.  I think we can do a better job of this if it’s just the two of us.  We’ll patch you back in when we find something,” Pritchard said without preamble, sounding distracted.

The line went dead.

“Pritchard you sonofabitch if I ever see you again…” Adam snarled, throwing his duffel bag at the wall.  It collided with a solid, dull _thud_ , leaving a dent.  “Goddamn it,” he hissed under his breath as futility clawed at him.

With one last look around the room, he jerked the bag over his shoulder and stalked out of the room.

He left the hotel without so much as a backwards glance.

Having no target, he turned and set off with purpose to anywhere but there.  Moving was the point, not getting anywhere in particular. 

Rage burned inside him.  That someone could hurt someone like her.  Just to get to an asshole like him.  It clawed and burned and made his bones itch.

He needed to burn off some of this restless energy before it immolated him from the inside out.

Anything to keep from thinking about Faridah. 

About how they had her and there was nothing he could do about it. 

These were the people who’d nearly killed him without a second’s thought. 

About what they could be doing to her right now.

The blood dripping down her face.  Trailing down the shattered glass, seemingly in slow motion as he watched.

The image inside his brain, so vivid and unwelcome, of them cutting pieces off her.

Would they have been able to take her if he and Faridah were still together? 

Would they have dared. 

He’d thought he was keeping her safe by staying away, but perhaps the opposite was true.

Perhaps he’d endangered her by letting her get close at all. 

Adam walked for what felt like hours.  Along streets and through alleys and past pedestrians who gave him a wide berth.

Blinking around at his surroundings, he found himself in an abandoned street with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.  No matter.  Across the street sat an old, burned out semi truck.  Perfect.  He set the bag down and swung a fist so hard at the fender that it jarred all the way down his spine.

Rust and soot exploded over him as the metal dented in with a satisfying crunch.

It felt like the first breath of air after drowning.

He roared; a snarling, enraged, inhuman sound, as he struck again.

And again.

And again.

His HUD flashed orange, that he was pushing himself too far: potentially damaging his augs.  He ignored the warning, throwing a couple kicks for good measure as he tore the inanimate object apart for no other reason than that it existed.

Minutes or days or hours later he stared at the wreckage, a good few meters from where he’d found it.  Pieces missing and laying scattered on the ground.  One entire side bashed in.  He wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or not.  But he did feel calmer.  Clearer-headed.  Even though his shoulder throbbed like a bitch. 

He was calmly dusting himself off when the call came back through.

Eliza.  Calm and collected, as always.  “Adam.  We’ve found her.”

The relief buckled his knees and he had to steady himself on the poor abused wreckage of the truck.  “Where.  How.”

Pritchard’s excited voice jumped in.  “When video is taken through eyes, there’s an algorithm that filters out the blinking, so it’s not too jarring to watch.  But biometric data can be taken from the blinking so it’s left in the file.  We applied a reverse algorithm and Eliza figured out immediately that while that asshole was giving you instructions, Faridah left us a message.  She spelled the city they’re in, in Morse code.  She’s in Istanbul, Adam.”

“Do we know where in Istanbul?” he asked.

“Not yet,” replied Pritchard.  “But we can work on it while you make your way there.”

“I’ve got a pilot on his way to you.  Sending coordinates now.  ETA fifteen minutes,” Eliza added.

“That was quick.”

“I dispatched him as soon as I knew Malik was in trouble.”

Damn.  Sometimes he forgets what a good friend Eliza’s become.  “Thanks, Eliza.”

“I will continue to gather information.  Contact me when you’re en route.”  She disconnected.

“I’ll keep on it on my end too.  We’ll get you everything you need to get her out safely.  We’ve got this, Adam,” added Pritchard.

“Thanks, Francis.  You’ll never know how much this means.”

“Yeah, yeah.   I’m the best.  You can suck up to me when she’s safe.”  He disconnected without bothering to say goodbye.  Typical.

By the time he arrived at the landing pad, his shoulder had stopped hurting.  _Good old Sentinel_.

Sarif was a prick, but the damn augs did come in handy from time to time.  Even Adam had to acknowledge that.

The chopper arrived only a couple minutes after he did, and Adam was in before the pilot even set the runners down properly.  He pulled the headset on and turned to the praying mantis of a man at the controls.  “Name’s Davidson,” the pilot said without preamble.  “I hear Malik’s in trouble.  Eliza sent me to get you to her.”

Well.  That actually answered most of his questions. 

He was all knees and elbows and greying blond hair hanging in his eyes, but he seemed competent enough.  And if Eliza chose him, he was good.

 “We’re flying directly to Istanbul, unless we need to make any stops on the way.  Do we need to make any stops?” the middle-aged pilot asked as the bird lifted into the air.

“Got a weapons cache I need to hit.”  Adam said as he uploaded the coordinates to the chopper’s nav system.

“Need to subvocalise a call,” Adam added.  Davidson nodded acknowledgement and left him to it as Adam sent a call through to Vaclav.

“Heeey man!  Long time no see!” came Vaclav’s voice over the line.  “You in need of repairs for those amazing augs of yours?”

“Not today Vaclav, sorry.  It’s about Faridah.”

“You guys back together finally?  It never sit right with me that you guys broke up.”

_You and me both, buddy_.

“Vaclav.  She’s been taken.”

“The fuck you mean, taken?”  Vaclav let out a long stream of half-shrieked Czech expletives.

“They’re trying to use her as leverage to get me to run errands for them.  I’m going to get her back.  But … we might need your services after.”  Adam swallowed, staring out the window into the dark.  “I thought you deserved to know.  What with being good friends with her and all.”

“I… thank you for telling me,” the mechanic said, subdued.  “You’re getting her back?”  Adam could almost hear him chewing on the edge of one of his custom-made fingers.

“On my way to now.  How good is that software you made me?  The stuff that’s supposed to counteract the virus those headhunters hit me with?”

“Pretty damn good.  Even if they upgraded, the chances it could shut down your augs is practically non-existent.  Why?  Do you expect to encounter them again?”

“They’re the ones that took her.  I think in retaliation for the one I killed escaping from them.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Kill them all.”

Adam chuckled in response, quiet and chilling.  “I plan to.”

“Good.  Keep me apprised,” Vaclav requested.  “I’ll make sure I have everything she might need.”

“Thanks.”

“I expect good news.  And soon.” Vaclav said by way of good-bye, and disconnected.

Silence reigned in the helicopter as the scary-looking cyborg stared daggers out the windshield and ran scenarios in his head.

He all but cleared out the storage locker once they arrived at his weapons cache, ending up lugging three bags back to the chopper.  Chances were he wouldn’t be able to use them all, but better to have them and not need them, than the other way around.

The pilot eyed him as he got back in, a little appalled at the sheer weight and volume of those three bags.  Without being able to see inside, he could still tell they held a lot of guns.  “She’s gonna be okay, right?  You’re gonna get her back?”

“Yeah.”  _Or die trying._

“Are they onto us?  To Eliza?”

Adam shook his head.  “No.  They took her to get to me.”

The guy looked him over, assessing.  “Oh.  You’re the ex then.”

Drawing a long breath, Adam ran a hand through his hair and stared out into the night.  Strange that such an innocuous statement could still hurt six months on.  They were broken up for as long as they’d been together.  And even while they were dating they’d been apart far more than they’d ever spent together.

“Yeah.  I’m the ex.”

“If you still care that much why did you ever let her go?”

“Care how much?  To try and save her?  I’d do that for anyone.”

Davidson shot him a withering look.

“That obvious, huh?”  Adam leaned back in his seat, mentally going through his pre-mission prep before calling Eliza back.

“Not… obvious.  But with the augs and the guns and the whole tall-dark-and-stoic thing you’ve got going, you kind of read like a contract killer.  And you’re worried.  That doesn’t fit.”

Adam forced his bouncing knee to still.  Traitor.

And this guy had balls.  If he really was the cold-hearted killer the pilot thought he was, he might have killed him for saying that.  He mentally shrugged.  He wasn’t far off.  The reality was that he was more selective about who he killed, is all.

“I work for, or with, Eliza.  Same as you.  The work got in the way.  And it’s too important to walk away from.  Even for her.”

How many times would he have to say that to himself for it to finally set in?  For it to stop festering in his chest.  Would it ever not hurt?

Did he even want it to.  Perhaps being numb to it was worse.

Davidson nodded, like he got it.  Who knew, maybe he did.  Adam was starting to realise Eliza’s network was a lot broader than he might have imagined.  More people she trusted with her secrets than just himself and Faridah.

“Gonna make another call. Plan the mission,” he said.  The pilot nodded the go-ahead and focused on flying.  Adam put the call through to Eliza.

“Adam?  I think I have the information we need to plan this mission,” she said on his infolink without preamble.

“Send it,” he subvocalised.

Maps of the city surface and underground appeared on his HUD.  Floor-by-floor schematics for a building.  Pictures and profiles of individuals seen around a squat concrete building.  “Looks like a bunker,” he said.

“It is.  With underground vehicle access.  Evidence would point to Malik being within, but there is no way to know for sure.”

“So I could clear the place out and still not find her.”  The thought left him cold.

“It is possible, but unlikely.  The man who appears to be the leader has been recorded on the roof and driving in and out of the building.  It is likely his base of operations.”

“The place they had Faridah looked like a cheap apartment.  It doesn’t match.”

“Judging by the nature of the compound, I believe all communications are hard-lined in.  No infolink communication in or out.  They would have telegraphed their location had they attempted to contact you from there.”

“So they moved her right after.”

“There was an SUV that entered the compound twenty three minutes after the call ended.  I believe she was inside.”

“Do we have an entry point?”

“The roof lacks the same security against an individual that the other entrances have.  The measures there are against air assault from helicopter or plane.  Much larger ordnance, but bigger gaps for you to slip through.  If you can get up there, I think you can get in.”  Adam pulled up the schematic and pictures of the roof.  The three turrets could tear him to pieces.  But if he could sneak in that rooftop door…

“How’s the ventilation in there?”

“Extensive and largely protected by concrete.  You should be able to move relatively freely once you’re in.  Bring a torch though.  I doubt they would leave them unsecured.”

“I won’t be able to see heat signatures without poking my head out.”

“No.  And Adam, in the unlikely chance she’s not there, the computer banks inside should hold her location.”

“Or one of the men will,” replied Adam grimly.  He’d start cutting off body parts if he had to.  Not usually his thing, but today he’d make a goddamn exception.

“Coming up on Istanbul,” said the pilot.  “ETA twenty minutes.”

Eliza sent him the location of a safehouse near where they’d be setting down.  “Are there medical supplies there?” he asked.  “I might need them.”

“I keep all my safehouses stocked,” she assured him.  “And Adam?  Once you get close enough to the bunker we’ll lose comms.  You’ll be on your own.”

“Understood.”

“Be safe.  And good luck.”

“I’ll get her back, Eliza,” Adam promised as he ended the call.

The pilot set down, and Adam slung all three bags across his body like some sort of terrifying augmented packhorse.  Stepping out of the cargo area, he headed down the stairs towards street level and made his way to his temporary base of operations.

He didn’t say goodbye, and the pilot didn’t bother with a farewell.  He did watch the man’s back as he descended the stairs, and wonder how many lives he was going to fuck up today, though.

He’d guess a lot.  But he had his own runs to make, and so silently wished Adam luck as he lifted off and left him to his rescue mission.

The safehouse was a little hole-in-the-wall apartment buried in the back of an alley, shrouded in darkness by the sheer length and height of the buildings that flanked it. 

He punched a code in and opened the door to a little bachelor pad, almost a surprise there in the high brick walls that seemed made for warehouses and factories.  He and Eliza had, by mutual agreement, decided to continue using hotels whenever possible.  It left places like this as a fallback plan for if and when things went to shit. 

Despite the tendency for things to turn to shit suddenly and often, he’d never been to this particular safehouse.

This one had clean sheets on the bed, a little kitchen fully stocked with dry food goods, and a decent first aid kit in the bathroom.  He laid his guns out on the table and stared.  There was no way he could bring all of them. 

Too many.  Too big.  Too heavy.  Maybe if he was trying to arm a squad, but not for one man.

In the end he decided simple and light was the best option.  He could always take guns as needed from the bodies. 

There would _definitely_ be bodies.

Double-checking the pistol and revolver, Adam holstered them both beneath his arms.  Strapped a knife to each leg, and hid another small one inside the void in his left arm where the nanoblade used to live.  In the other arm, he put a little cutting torch.  As Eliza had advised.

He raided the first aid kit, stuffing the pockets of his cargo pants with gauze and tape and little packets of painkillers.  Who knew what condition Faridah would be in when he found her.

He tried not to think about that as he prepared.  This was a mission.  Like any other.  Get in.  Get the objective.  Get out.  That was it.  Nothing complicated about it.  If he treated this like a special case he was going to get them both killed.

So he breathed.  Went to that cold dark place in his head where he could kill without thought or remorse.  Became the monster, the killer Sarif had made him to be.

Or perhaps it was something that was always a part of him, deep down inside.  In any case, he was willing enough to use it, when the situation demanded.

After ensuring he had all the extra ammo, biocells, and medical supplies he could carry, he left the apartment once again.  He’d been there for a grand total of forty-three minutes.

The long, stretched shadows were bleeding into night by the time he emerged from the alley, taking a direct line towards the bunker that held her.  Taking a cab or stealing a vehicle might attract attention, or leave a trail he didn’t want.  So he walked.

Eliza sat silent in his head, watching through his eyes and only speaking up to alert him to cameras or passersby.  He’d engage his glass-shield cloak, passing like a ghost.  Leaving no trace of his passage.

It was slow going as he had to wait out of sight for his drained batteries to power back up in anticipation of the next use, but better careful than caught.  There would be time for speed and carnage soon enough.

He’d make the time.

Once Faridah was safe, all bets were off.  If he could do it without endangering her, he’d kill every single person inside that compound.  Catharsis and message sent, all in one.  Two birds with one very coldly angry stone.

If these people wanted to mess with him, he’d show them how dangerous he was capable of being.  What with the Illuminati’s trail gone cold, he could use a diversionary war.  If it came to that.

With the anger currently simmering in his veins, he almost wished it would.

The darkness was nearly palpable by the time he reached the compound, thick and murky and perfect for a stealth.  Except for the fact the place shone like an orb of fucking daylight against the dark.  It bristled with cameras and was lit up like the goddamn Eiffel Tower.

Which was something he really didn’t want to be thinking about right now.

The place was a fortress.  Eliza had gone silent in his ear just as it came in sight, so he was already within the building’s jamming field.  He tried to reconnect, testing the strength of interference.

Nothing.

So deaf too.  As predicted.  Fuck.

There were no soldiers posted outside.  No patrols or vehicles.  No movement whatsoever, save the slowly panning cameras.  So either they trusted their electronic security, or they didn’t want anyone in the city to know they housed a small militia within.

Or both. 

Whatever the reason, it served him just fine.  There were small blind spots just beneath the cameras where he could recharge.  Engaging the cloak, he ran from cover to the corner of the building.  Whoever set these knew what they were doing; their blind spots were miniscule.  Just big enough for him, if he stood in precisely the right place, and held perfectly still.

Over the next few minutes he moved fast and silent between the cameras.  Setting small timed charges on windowsills as he passed.  Nothing that could do much damage, so much as register as attempted entry and draw them to the disruption and away from him.  Also, repeatedly set off alarms for no reason.  He’d use the noise and chaos to his advantage. 

Finally he reached the best place to climb, on an inside corner that ran all the way to the top.  The windowsills were only a few millimeters deep, but his aug fingers could grip just fine.  As long as they were dry.  He shot up a prayer of thanks to the universe that it wasn’t raining.  

Compared to climbing a mile up sheer walls as the ocean caved in on him, this should be about as difficult as a nap.

He braced his feet.  Made the short leap.  Grabbed the windowsill.  Hung for a moment before setting his feet against the wall below.  Pushed up until his arms were straight, and raised first one, then the other foot.  Stood on the windowsill, toes barely clinging to the narrow ledge.  Placed a charge against the glass.  Then leaped across to the adjacent wall, up to the next window.  Precarious, to be sure.  But nothing compared scaling an exploding waterfall.

There were no cameras above the first floor.  Why would there be.  The security on the ground level should have been enough to detect or eliminate almost any threat.

Once he was up past the first, he could move essentially with impunity, and he climbed quickly.  Leap-pause-push up.  Only stopping to let his cloak recharge the once outside a window that showed an empty office within, catching his breath before entering the shooting gallery that would be the roof.  This next part would be tricky.

Engaging the cloak, he climbed up and rolled onto the roof, aiming for the shadow of one of the anti-aircraft turrets.  Curled into a ball away from the sensors of the other two turrets, he used two biocells to top up his battery supply.  Gave himself ten seconds to catch his breath before reactivating the cloak and sprinting for the door.

He hacked the keypad while still invisible, just barely managing to get inside before the cloak fizzled and exposed him.  Flattened to the inside of the door as the batteries recharged again, just managing to get the cloak back up as the camera inside panned across the door, and himself.

And then the lighting inside turned red and alarms sounded all around him. Deafening after the silence outside.

Shit.  Busted already.  After all that sneaking.  Adam unclipped his revolver, holding it down next to his leg.  Ready for the fight that was coming.

A guard turned the corner, and Adam raised his gun to fire.  But without even a glance in his direction, the man ran right past Adam’s invisible form.  Adam let him go, shoulders sagging in relief.

He grinned at the guard’s back.  The first charge must have gone off.

Perfect timing.

And now he wouldn’t have a body lying in this hallway, leaving a trail.

The first vent was around the corner from where he entered the building, and as predicted it was locked shut.  Pulling out his little cutting torch, he made quick work of the latch, climbed inside and pulled the grate closed behind him.

He crawled along the dusty vent with the alarms echoing through the ducting around him, amplified and carried down to him from multiple directions, loud and disorienting in the closed space. 

Well.  He was in.  Now to find out where she was.

And if Faridah was even here.

Adam missed Eliza’s voice in his ear, her comforting lilt and mission support. Jokes and teasing and eyes in the sky, keeping him safe.  He only rarely ever ran an op without her, and he felt her absence like a weight in the back of his head.  His time in SWAT was long past, but it still felt good to have someone at his back.  So to speak.

The ducting beneath his hands began to slope downwards, heading towards the third floor.

He figured she’d be somewhere on this floor or the one directly below.  Someplace central, with no windows.  Difficult to get to, and difficult for her to escape from.  Well protected and well-guarded.

The alarms outside cut off, nearly as deafening in their sudden absence as they’d been in their screaming cacophony.

His breathing sounded loud to his own ears.  Every scratch of his boot, every click of his aug hands on the tin felt like it echoed like thunder.  He half expected to hear the shouts of discovery echoing down to him at any moment.  Followed by the inevitable bullets.

Instead voices grumbled somewhere unseen, and the tinge of red he’d been seeing through the vent covers disappeared. 

He slowed his movements, careful not to give himself away.  The cover of sound would return soon enough.  Might as well enjoy the quiet while he had it.

Sure enough, thirty or so seconds later the alarm was going again and he could move freely once more.  He smoothly slid a vent open, leaning on his other elbow and pointing his silenced pistol at the opening as he activated his glass-shield cloak and his infrared vision.

Three people in the next room.  None of them Faridah’s size.

He closed it again, undetected, and kept crawling until he reached another vent cover that opened into an empty room.  Time to get his ass out of the ducting and find Faridah.

This vent cover wasn’t locked, and he slid it open quietly, climbing out.  Squatting down, he scanned all the heat signatures he could see through the walls.  None of them looked or felt right to be her.  The posture was too casual.  Or too guarded, obviously carrying guns.

She was a floor down.  He’d bet on it.  But he couldn’t see down through the concrete. 

Now to find a way down.  Preferably without being detected.

The first camera he’d destroy would give away his position.  But every one after that would create a widening void where they couldn’t track his location.  And he’d need some blind spots on their way out.

Doubling back, he took the vent up to the top floor, taking out the two cameras in the hallway there while cloaked.  Then he ducked back inside, closing the vent behind him.

Once back in the empty office a floor below, he climbed out and moved to the door.  Engaged the cloak and stepped out into the hall.  A single bullet from his silenced 9mm disabled the camera that covered the corner where the two hallways met.  He stalked invisible up the corridor, taking out two more cameras before finding the stairs.

No help for it: he was going to have to move out in the open to get to the lower floor.  Activating the cloak, he crouched low to the stairs and made his way down.

Of course he turned the corner almost right into two guards on patrol. 

It seemed luck was still on his side.  The blaring alarms started back up as if on cue; covering his approach.  Only one spotted him.  The woman turned to draw her gun and fell before she could even aim, a single bloom of red on her forehead.  Grey eyes unseeing, unblinking.  The other crumpled in place with a shot to the temple.  A third bullet went into the camera at the end of the hallway.  The altercation might have been caught on vid, but there was nothing he could do for that now.

The people inside had to know something was up by now anyways.

He left the bodies where they lay, stepping around the slowly spreading pools of blood as he passed.  His vision turned to grey and red as he activated his infravision and panned around to scan the floor from where he stood in the hall. 

Two men in a room to his right.  Three down the hallway to the left.  A cluster in the room straight ahead.  Four standing and one sitting.

Sitting in a strange position.  Legs too wide.  Arms in perfect symmetry along what he had to assume were the arms of a chair.  Even sitting, he could tell this one was smaller than the others in the room.

_Faridah._

Something rose inside him, threatening to swamp his calm mission focus.  Triumph or relief or fear… It didn’t matter.  He stuffed it back down.  He had a mission to complete.  He could feel later, when it wouldn’t endanger them.

He wanted to subvocalise to Eliza: “I found her.”  But his infolink was dead.  Still.

The room appeared to back onto the hallway where he stood, with the door straight across from him on the other side of the room.  A quick scan of this wall told him he could break through it with a single punch.

That would both grant him the element of surprise, and lose it for him.  He’d have about two seconds before they caught on.  And that wall would not stop bullets.  Deflect maybe.  If it was flimsy enough he could punch through it, it was unlikely to provide even marginal cover from gunfire. 

Drawing his revolver, he held it down by his thigh in his right hand, pointed at the floor as he prepared to disintegrate with his left.

Wound up.

Twisted his entire body behind the blow.

Felt the wall crumble as his fist created an Adam-sized hole in the wall, exploding it inwards towards the room’s occupants.

He leaned through, downing two guards with shots that reverberated loud through the room and left gaping holes in their heads.  A third man turned and Adam hit his arm instead of his head, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor.  The fourth got two shots away, pinging off Adam’s chest armor and ricocheting back into the room harmlessly.  And then took a bullet through the throat.

Adam stepped through the hole, watching for the one he’d injured.  Carefully picking his way over bodies and dropped weapons, he put his revolver back in the holster and drew his pistol.

He very deliberately did not look at the person in the chair in the center of the room.  Not yet.

The last man alive was hiding in a pool of his own blood, half under a desk.  “Please don’t kill me,” he whined, trying to stem the blood gushing from his mangled upper arm with his other hand.

“You shouldn’t have hurt my friend,” Adam replied, firing a single bullet between the man’s eyes.  He didn’t even watch as the light faded from those green eyes and he toppled slowly sideways to the floor.

Zip-ties held Faridah’s wrists and ankles fast to the heavy metal chair that was bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.  Duct tape sealed her mouth.  Dried blood caked on her forehead where the cut from the mirror had been allowed to bleed down her face.  A purple, swollen bruise bloomed on her opposite cheek.

Her eyes met his, some mixture of calm and panic and anger and relief shining there.

He took all this in, in an instant as he kneeled before her.  “This is going to hurt.  Sorry.”  He peeled a corner of the duct tape up off her cheek and slowly pulled it back.

She made a face as it pulled at her skin.  “Ow.”

“You alright?” he asked as he pulled one of the knives from his thigh and began cutting the zip-ties at her wrists.

“Ask me in a few minutes,” she rasped.

He was kneeling down to free her ankles when the man came through the door behind him.

Without thinking, Malik reached out and pulled the revolver from its holster beneath Adam’s arm, cocked it, and blew the guard’s head to pieces.

Adam finished freeing her, a task of seconds, before looking over his shoulder at the threat she’d just dispatched.  “Thanks,” he said, turning back as she lowered the gun to her lap with a shaking hand.

He took it gently from her and put it back in its place.  Cupped her cheek with one hand and met her gaze.  “Hey.  I’m here.  We’re gonna get out of this.”

Adam found himself with an armful of shaking pilot as Malik launched herself into his arms.

Something clicked deep down inside him as her arms came around him.  Even after all this time, she still felt like home.

His own arms pulled her in without even thinking about it.  Her breath shuddered into his neck as he stroked her hair.  “I’m here, Faridah.  I’ve got you.”

She held tight; he was solid and real and he was _there_.  He’d come, and faster than she’d thought possible.

He wanted to kneel there for the rest of eternity with his arms around her.  Warm, and alive, and whole.

But not his.  Not anymore.

He pat her back twice before loosening his hold and standing up.  Her hands lingered on his back as he moved away.  Like she didn’t want to let go.

“Okay.  Time to get you out of here.”

She nodded.

“Can you walk?”

She lurched to her feet, staggering him back as he tried to get out of her way.  “Yeah.  Can you bring me that?” she replied, suddenly needing out of this room.  Pointing at a shotgun on a nearby table.

He grabbed it and some spare ammo and handed it to her.  Watched as she checked it over and turned off the safety. 

“Let’s go,” she said, looping the strap over her head and across her body. 

He smothered a smile at her determination. 

That was his Faridah.

He checked the room’s single door first, poking his head out into the hallway and noting it was empty before closing it.  For now anyways.  Adam shoved the body of the man Faridah downed against the inside of the door, dragging it across the floor and leaving a disgusting trail of blood and chunks from the man’s head. 

Faridah shuddered and looked away from the carnage.

She’d done that.

The body would serve a dual purpose; something to slow them down and give them something to think about.  After what they just put Faridah through, Adam wanted them to feel every single death. 

They would.

Moving past her to the back of the room, he took a cursory look out the hole he’d entered through and, finding the coast clear, waved her over.  “Stay behind me.  Watch the right, and the rear.”

“Got it,” she replied, squaring her shoulders.

“You still with me?” he asked, sparing a moment to search her eyes.

There was fear there, and determination.  She nodded.  “Get me out of here,” was her reply.

He stepped through the hole, offering her a hand.  Faridah wrapped her fingers around his, drawing strength and calm from the contact.  His hand was rock-steady in hers, solid and familiar.  She stepped through the wall’s remains, reluctantly letting him have his hand back as she fell into step at his right flank.

She’d heard the sirens and alarms.  Seen the red emergency lighting through the crack under the door.  Watched her guards shift and curse under their breath and nervously grip the guns in their hands.  After hours of waiting.  Wondering if they’d get the chance to follow through on their threat.  To start cutting if he didn’t do as he was told.

Who were they kidding.  This was Jensen.  Of course he wasn’t going to do as he was told.  Their fucking file should have shown them that.  Especially if they threatened someone he cared about.

And even after everything between them, the way he’d left, she had no doubt he still cared.  That’s how Adam was wired.  He couldn’t just turn the feelings off, no matter how much he might want to.  She’d seen that when he joined SI.  That he still loved Megan, even though he wasn’t trying to get back together with her.

So when those red emergency lights had lit up, she’d known it was him.  Adam. 

She’d known he’d come.  Nothing could keep him from it.  Even if he wasn’t still in love with her.

When the wall broke behind her, showering her in debris and dust, she’d been as shocked as any of the guards in the room.  The sound of the revolver had been loud; deafening.  The spray of blood seemed to wash onto the walls in slow motion like paint.  She didn’t even realise what was going on until after Adam dropped three of them.

And then he was there.  Walking past her.  Saying something softly to the blubbering coward on the floor, and ending him with a bullet.

The relief would have crumpled her knees if she’d been standing.

And now she stepped out into the hallway, borrowed shotgun a heavy and familiar weight in her hands.

It was strange being at his back like this.  On a mission.  On the ground with a gun in her hands instead of circling the sky waiting for the call for pick-up.  To have him there at all, months after he left their apartment with the clothes on his back and his weapons.

He’d left the books.  The clock-making tools.  That jacket she’d forced him to buy in Paris.  Weeks later she’d come home to find he’d taken all the rest of his guns, and put away his remaining clothes in the spare bedroom closet.  Alongside the clock-making tools, carefully placed in a labelled box and stored in the back corner.  She’d wondered at the time if he was ever coming back for them.  The way they’d been put away might indicate so, but she knew him better than that.  Those things would gather dust in there until she finally got tired of having them and threw them away.  His missions and travelling would never allow him the time and space for such a hobby.  No matter how much the task calmed him.

She hadn’t brought herself to throw them away yet.

And didn’t know if she ever would.

He led the way back up the stairs, careful and low to the ground.  Her knees protested when she tried to follow suit, aching from the hours without being able to move in that damn chair.  She held the shotgun at the ready as she turned the corner with him, careful to keep it pointed at the floor unless she had a target.

Adam glanced over his shoulder, checking in with her briefly as they reached the top of the stairs.  Distracted, he missed the man coming out of a side door in the hallway ahead of them. He turned just in time to hear the rapport of pistol fire, and catch Faridah crumple out of the corner of his eye.

She grunted in shock and pain as it penetrated her thigh with a little explosion of blood.   Hands dropped the gun and let it swing as her leg crumpled and she pressed them over the little obscene hole.  Red seeped between her fingers.  It was almost pretty, she noted in a detached way.  It was strange.  Mesmerising.  Watching the red flow, and drip in seeming slow motion.

Adam fired a single shot, dropping her assailant before he could do any more damage.

Shit.  It would figure they’d all come down on them just after Faridah had been hit.  Adam’s luck appeared to have finally run out.  Armed guards poured out of three different doorways in the hall ahead of them and he was suddenly too busy to even check her injury.  He just hoped to hell they weren’t coming up the stairs behind them too.  Something told him Faridah was in no condition to cover their rear.

The hallway echoed with the sound of gunfire as Adam unloaded his revolver into one after another, after another. 

There were still three left when the gun clicked empty. 

No time to reload.  He let the gun drop from his hand and drew his pistol, aiming for the eyes.  Two bullets impacted in his chest armor, staggering him back and threatening to send him sprawling backwards down the stairs, and a third burned a furrow through the skin above his ear, drawing a hiss of pain and an angry growl.

The calm he’d relied on to get him in and to her, was rapidly giving way to blistering anger.

It took three shots from his pistol to take out the last man, and only then could he turn to check on Faridah. 

She was perched on the edge of the top step, hands pressed to her leg.  Blood leaking through her fingers.  Face pale and hands shaking.

He swore under his breath as he dropped to his knees before her.  “You’re hit.”

She stared right through him, eyes wide and staring as she sucked breath hard through her nose. 

He cupped her face.  “Faridah.  Faridah.  I can bind the wound, but not here.  There’s a vent just up the hallway and if we can get inside it we’ll be safer there.  It’s going to hurt, but you’ll be safe inside.  Okay?”

She drew in a shaking breath, nodding. 

He bent and retrieved his revolver from the floor, quickly reloading it and sliding it into its holster before moving around to her injured side.   Putting an arm around her, he braced and helped her back to her feet.  “Alright let’s move.”

A hissing, pained sound escaped her as she took the first step, and he cringed at the sound.  “One foot in front of the other.  There we go.  Doing great.”

She was still doubled over, pressing both hands to the wound as he half-carried her forward, edging them around the bodies in their way.  In this position they’d be mowed down if they were spotted.  And they weren’t moving nearly fast enough.

He shuffled them forward, around the corner and to the vent.  “I need you to crawl now.”

Faridah made a pained noise in the back of her throat.

“Just down and around the corner to where the vent widens.  Then you can stop and rest.  Can you do that?”

She nodded with a wince.  Didn’t have a choice, now did she?  Unless she wanted a few more extraneous holes.

Faridah let out a low roar of pain as Adam lowered her down. 

Gripping her wound, she gulped air and blinked back stars in her vision.  If sitting down hurt this much, how was she going to manage to crawl?

He squatted down in front of her.  “We need to get out of the line of fire.  I can patch you up as soon as it’s safe, but we have to go.  Can you move?”

She… honestly wasn’t sure.  “I can try,” she managed to hiss out.  Turned and started to army crawl through the vent opening, dragging the leg behind her.

Her leg screamed at her the entire time.  Her breathing was loud and a whimper echoed off the metal walls as she moved.  But she moved.  Forcing herself to put one hand in front of the other and pull.  A little at a time, but progress.

Ignoring the pained noises Malik was making as she crawled, Adam adjusted the bodies in the hallway to obscure the trail of blood she’d left.  Hopefully the spreading blood from the men he’d downed would mask it entirely.

Finally satisfied, he ducked inside the vent and slid it shut behind him. 

Faridah had nearly reached the bend in the ducting.  “A little farther,” he said quietly, trusting the space to carry his voice.  “It widens just ahead and around the corner.”

The injured leg hurt too much to move, and she had to drag it behind her, pulling with her arms and pushing with her good leg.  Slow, painful, nauseating progress. Gritting profanity out through clenched teeth with every movement. 

Adam stared with distaste at the gleam of sticky red coating on his hands.  Normally blood didn’t bother him, but this was _hers_.

She hauled herself around the corner ahead of him as he crawled through her blood.  The sounds inside the vent seemed too-loud; like anyone in the building could find them at any moment.  Any second they could be discovered, and they were sitting ducks in here.  Or very slowly moving ones.  Adam was immune to EMP and gas grenades, but Faridah wasn’t.  And she was losing blood.

But there was no way to speed her up.

After an eternity of breathing dust and the sharp copper smell of blood, she reached the wide point, twisting onto her back and reaching to press her hands over her wound once more.

Adam crawled up beside her, chest aching for the pain she was in.  “You can rest now,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.  “You did good, Faridah.  You did good.” 

Tears streaked furrows through the dust on her cheeks.  Adam’s thumb left a smudge of red on her cheekbone.

“I need to bandage you,” he said, pulling his hand away before moving back down towards her leg.

Rummaging around in his pockets, he pulled out medical supplies and lined them up in the dirt.  Peeling open gauze pads, he stacked them on top of each other and held them in one hand as he gently encouraged her hands away from the bullet hole. 

She lifted her hands a hiss of pain at the release of pressure, and he let the blood ooze out for a moment, cleansing the wound, before pressing the gauze down.  Ignoring her sharp intake of breath. 

“Easy,” he whispered.  “Almost done.”  Grabbing a roll of white tape, he wrapped it around her leg, right over her jeans.  Right now he just needed to stem the bleeding.  He could worry about cleaning it and patching it properly when they weren’t in danger of getting shot. 

“It’s makeshift,” he said quietly as he moved back up to face her.  “But that should hold for the time being.” 

He pulled out a packet of painkillers.  Not much compared to what she was enduring now.  But it should take the edge off.  She took them in her hand, and swallowed them dry without a second’s thought.

And then he pulled her into his arms.

He was getting blood on her shirt.  She on his armor.  They were both a mess, covered in blood and dust.  But they clung to each other, gripping tight in the filthy, cramped space.

She shook in his arms, her fingers gripping hard to his back plate.  “I’m here.  I’m here Faridah.  I’ve got you.”  The shuddering continued as he rubbed circles on her back, breathing long and slow in the hopes she’d do the same subconsciously.

It felt good.  Really good.  To have her in his arms again.

Considering the circumstances, a little too good.

Maybe someday he’d get to do this again, without the dirt and the danger and the injury.

Unlikely.

He buried his face in her shoulder, catching a faint whiff of oranges.  It smelled like home. 

She was breathing fast.  Shallow.  Breath stuttering in her chest.  Beginning to hyperventilate.

He pulled her tighter to him. “It’s alright.  You’re going to be fine.  You’re in shock.  That’s normal.  Dulls the pain.  Just… just breathe.  In.  Out.  I’ve got you.”

She forced herself to follow his instructions, focusing on drawing each breath out.  After long minutes where her shaking subsided and her arms relaxed, she huffed into his shoulder, “Would have been nice to see you again in better circumstances.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Reluctantly, he rolled away, lying on his back in the small space next to her.  “Faridah.  I need to go back out there.” 

She stiffened.

“I have to clear out the rest of the building and shut down the autoturrets so we can walk out of here.  You’re in no condition to jump off a four-storey building.”

“Am I ever?” she asked dubiously.

He chuckled.  “Good point.  But you should be safe in here while I go deal with them.”  Pulling out his revolver, he pressed it into her hands.  “Take this, and shoot anything that comes at you.  You shouldn’t need to, but just in case…”

She took it, hands steadying as she wrapped her fingers around the grip.  A box of ammo appeared next to her head.  “You’ve just got the pistol,” she reminded him.  The revolver was his preferred weapon.  She knew that.  Easier to get a kill with a single shot.

“I’ve got a pistol, and all the guns they’ll drop. I’ll be fine.  Promise.”

As he moved to crawl past her she grabbed him by the chest armor, pulling him in towards her and pressing her lips to his.  Hard.  Unyielding.

He stilled in shock for a moment before leaning into the contact.  A faint groan escaped his throat, and his hand moved of its own accord to cup the back of her head.  It was all he could do to keep from angling his head and deepening the kiss.

God, he missed her.

Instead, he held back.  This was neither the time, nor the place for a makeout session.

She released him, saying low and even just beyond his lips, “Kill them all, Adam.”

“I plan to,” came his’s reply.  Quiet.  Cold.  He tilted his head to kiss her gently on the forehead.  “Stay safe, Faridah.  I’ll be right back.”

Glaring, she replied, “I’ll hold you to that, Jensen.”

With a last watery smile he crawled around the corner and away, leaving her alone and bleeding in the empty vent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I ended it there. But the chapter had to get broken up somewhere, and that's where it ended up. The next chapter's about half-done, so hopefully I can get you your follow-up soon. Let me know what you thought.


	13. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having Faridah back in his arms isn't much of a comfort when she might be bleeding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter doth appear. (Finally) Believe it or not, I am still working on this.

The grate groaned as Adam pushed open the access panel, creaking loud in the empty space.  He winced, freezing mid-motion as he waited to see if the sound summoned any of the remaining guards.

A few moments of listening and it seemed he was still safe, and scooted out into the thankfully-still-empty corridor and stood up.

Nothing but silence greeted him as he checked his pistol, pulling back the slide and letting it spring back with a soft click. 

Dust rose in little clouds from his clothes as he moved.  It stuck to his hands and knees, sealing the blood into the fabric and sitting thick on his fingertips..

Adam forced himself to ignore it.  What it represented. 

Who it had come from.

Bleeding and in pain. 

Alone.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned away.

He started with the top floor, checking each room with a quick infrared scan before moving on to the next.  His footsteps sounded loud to his own ears, as though every step should be summoning a dozen or so armed men. 

But none came.

The entire building felt wrong; silent and still where scurrying and complaining and the ringing of unanswered phones belonged.

He caused enough of a ruckus on his way through the first time, that there weren’t many left on the top two levels, and he killed them quickly and efficiently on his way back down.

None would be left alive.  He wouldn’t risk Faridah’s safety on their way out.

He hacked a few computers in the more important-looking offices, compiling information for his next hunt.  Having stalled out in his pursuit of the Illuminati, he was going to enjoy dismantling this organisation, piece by piece. 

Adam wasn’t about to risk the chance they’d try to come at him through the people he cared about again.  Plus he could get some payback, when he had the luxury of time.

And everyone needed a hobby.

He was going to have to contact the guy these assholes tried to send him after.  He was on their radar now.  They’ll be pursuing him, with or without Adam’s help. 

Any target of theirs was a potential ally of his.

But that was something he could tackle after they got out of this fortress safely.

He disabled the turrets and cameras in the building as he got the chance, clearing the way out for later.  Silenced and disabled the alarm so Faridah would hear if anyone tried to sneak up on her. 

The third floor offered little resistance; a few pockets of terrified guards who went down without even hitting him.  Bullets spraying the walls harmlessly as they forgot their training in their panic. 

There was no pity in Adam for them, considering they hunted people like him for a living.  Perhaps they should have chosen their careers with more forethought.  And maybe some goddamn compassion.

Adam’s luck finally caught back up with him on his way down the stairs to the second floor.

One second he was quietly stalking his way down the stairs and the next he was on the landing, sprawled on his back.

Instinct had him throwing himself to the ground as the bullet hit his leg, scrambling backwards out of the line of fire. 

The rest hit the wall where he’d just been standing.

So that’s where everyone had gone.

And fortified.

Behind an autoturret.

That was trying to bore a hole through the wall mere feet away from him.

His ears rang as the deafening sound of gunfire echoed in the concrete stairwell.  Bullets kicking out dust and flinging little shards of stone in every direction.

A quick glance down showed a hole in his pants where one bullet had ricocheted of his shin plate, and a second hole higher, where another was sunk into the synthetic muscle fibres of his thigh.

His leg still seemed to work fine though.  Then again, he hadn’t tried standing yet either.

It seemed these assholes were finally using what they’d received in the place of brains.

Pity.  Adam could have used a little more chaos and a lot less co-ordination.

He scrambled to squat on the landing, out of range of that deadly gun.  They were at an impasse, for the time being. 

Until they came up the stairs after him, or sent reinforcements in the elevator to come down on him from behind.

Adam was at a serious disadvantage.

Grenade time, then.

Adam grinned as he pulled a dark blue EMP grenade from one of his cargo pants’ pockets.  Pulled the pin and counted two seconds before blindly reaching around the wall and sending it tumbling down the stairs.

A moment after the flash, he let another little pineapple roll down the stairs.

And then pieces of black metal embedded themselves in the back wall of his little makeshift shelter, scattered around the bullet holes.

His best guess?  That turret wouldn’t be firing any time soon.  Or ever again.

Muffled shouts sounded from beyond the explosion.  There was a lot more than just that turret waiting for him down there.

A spiteful part of him hoped some of them were suddenly nursing shrapnel wounds.

Unless they had a rocket launcher or tank down there (unlikely) they either had to come up the stairs after him (suicidal) or wait for him to be stupid enough to walk into the firing squad waiting for him.

Or just wait him out and ‘sneak’ up on him from above.

Adam didn’t know if a gas grenade was the cure for this stalemate, but he was damn well willing to try it. 

Anything to skew the odds in his favor, and he couldn’t just wait here forever.

He leaned against the staircase wall and reached around to pitch the gas grenade underhand on the other side, arcing it over the stairs and into the room beyond with all but his arm still protected.  A couple bullets hit his arm before the ones shooting got smart enough to try and scramble out of the green cloud, but his HUD wasn’t screaming at him, so was probably fine.

The two in his leg didn’t seem to be affecting him either.

Hooray for superfluous prosthetics.

Activating his cloak, he ducked around the corner and slunk his way down the stairs, hunched close to the ground.  His rebreather hissed loudly in his ears as he reached the bottom of the stairs and the edge of the gas cloud. 

Three bodies lay on the ground.  The rest must be huddled behind furniture in the cubicles because Adam a) couldn’t see anyone else, and b) wasn’t greeted by a hail of bullets as he descended, and c) could still hear them beyond what his natural vision could see.

A quick infrared scan showed a dozen or so glowing red figures scattered along the walls of the large room.

He ducked down behind a partition, peeking around the edge and aiming at the first he could see enough of to shoot, bullet shattering the visor on the guard’s helmet on the way in, leaving a spray of red on the inside of the glass.

And then the bullets started flying again.

His arm jerked as one hit him in the forearm, and his fortunately-empty hand jerked and twitched uncontrollably as he turned and shot the top of a head off as it poked up from behind a desk.  Then started dropping bodies, one by one, aided by his infrared vision.  Faintly noting the fallen blobs of red turning yellow.

Too bad the Headhunters had never been augged.  They might have stood a chance.

Then again, if they had they wouldn’t be Headhunters. 

The pistol clicked empty and he dropped the spent magazine to the floor, reaching for a fresh one with his malfunctioning left hand.

He gripped it just long enough to pull it from his pocket and then his hand betrayed him, letting it clatter to the floor.

Just in time for him to feel something impact the back of his neck, piercing the muscle with a red-hot spark of pain.  Hissing in pain, he reached back to feel the wound as he spun to face the new threat.

And found a familiar blond prick sneering at him.  “Well.  All things aside, this fiasco at least got me you,” he said evenly, a cruel glint in his eyes.  “I’ll enjoy stripping your augs while you lie there helpless and _feel every slice,_ asshole.”

Adam blinked at him for a moment, absently grasping the dart with his malfunctioning hand.  Eyed it for a moment before his hand clenched reflexively on it, shattering the canister and bending the needle.  Though unintentional, it made a clear statement.

“Is that so?”  Adam took a step forward, letting the dart fall to the floor.

The man’s eyes widened and he took a half-step back, dropping the dart pistol and reaching for his assault rifle.

Adam let a slow smile spread across his face as he advanced, flinging his empty pistol to the side as he moved within reach of the retreating man.

Blondie flailed for the gun slung across his body.  Adam stepped into him, letting the pistol fall from his hand as he reached up to grab the barrel of the rifle, snapping it up into his nose with a single sharp motion.  Blood erupted from the man’s nose, marring his otherwise handsome face.  His hands rose to cover it, red leaking from between his fingers and down his chin.

“Weren’t expecting that, huh?” Adam hissed, looming into him.  “Thought you had me at your mercy.  Again.  What the _fuck_ made you think that would work twice?” Adam growled as he grabbed the man’s head with both hands, slamming it down as he drove his knee up.  His chin made a satisfying crunch as it gave, shattering against the hard plating.

“You went after someone I care about, and calling that a mistake would be like calling Chernobyl an inconvenience.  Congratulations.  You just forfeited the lives of _every.  Single. Person._ In your organisation.”

Not just the building.  Adam was going to tear the entire establishment down to its foundations.  And then he was going to burn those.

Adam released him, letting him fall to his knees on the ground.  Still clutching at his face.  Making gurgling noises as he tried to breathe through blood and broken bones.

“You’re lucky I don’t have time to deal with you properly.”  He bent to retrieve his pistol and the dropped full magazine.  Carefully slipped it home with a click and pulled the slide back.  Stood back up.  Casually walked to stand over the man.  Pressed the barrel to his forehead. 

“Don’t bother trying to beg.  I broke your jaw and there’s no point.”  He pulled the trigger three times.  Three perfect holes in the nameless prick’s forehead.  Then once more after he fell boneless to the ground.  A single shot to the throat for good measure.  No point shooting him in the heart.  He was wearing good body armor.  But he wanted to make _damn_ sure he wouldn’t be getting back up.

Judging from the glassy faraway gaze in those blue eyes and the rapidly spreading red puddle on the floor, he was down for good.

“Good riddance, asshole,” Adam all but spat as he stepped over the still-warm corpse and went to find anyone else who thought they’d tear him to pieces while he screamed.

Where he’d been cold.  Quiet.  Calculating.  Through his clearing the top two floors.  He was hot now.  Burning angry.  Where he felt nothing as he pulled the trigger before, now he felt satisfaction boiling in his veins, and he took every opportunity he could to kill up close and personal.

It didn’t take long to clear the bottom two floors and kill the guard in the underground parking garage.

The building was clear.  Finally.

He swiped a set of keys from the lock box in the underground garage, hitting the button and hearing a nearby truck chirp.  Reaching it in long strides, he climbed in and moved it, parking close to the stairs and leaving the doors unlocked. 

He wouldn’t risk an elevator unless he had to, even though it meant he’d have to carry Faridah down all those flights of stairs.  The things were just little windowless death boxes.

On his way back up no voices crackled over radios.  No red lights strobed.  No alarms shrieked out.  There was no sound of footsteps or gunshots or raised voices.  No more turrets or darts or gloating bastards.

Not even the click of a safety turning off.

Adam stalked through the silent halls, a dark wraith among all those still forms and pools of red. 

Reaching the top floor, he went straight for the vent he’d helped Faridah inside before.  Moved the bodies.  Popped the hatch and crawled inside.  “Faridah?  It’s me,” he called softly.

No response came.

“Faridah?”  His voice echoed loud in the vent as he scrambled faster, contorting around the bend in the ducting and getting his first glimpse of her.

Her lashes lay still on colorless, dirt-smudged cheeks.  Her hand lay loose and boneless over his revolver.  The puddle beneath her leg seemed a bottomless black void, an ominous too-large black hole that swallowed all the light in the space.

The seconds it took to move to her side were lifetimes upon lifetimes. 

Heart pounding in his ears, he reached across and gave her shoulder a rough shake.  “Faridah.  Please, don’t do this to me,” he begged roughly, eyes stinging from more than dust.

Her mumbled response would have crumpled him to his knees if he wasn’t already on the ground. 

“Goddamn it you scared the shit out of me,” he said, arms around her and mashing her to his chest before he even knew what he was doing.  Breathing in the scent of dust and blood and tin and under it all, a hint of oranges.

“Hellofa way to wake someone up.  Jerk,” she growled between her teeth.

He chuckled into her hair, too relieved to reply to her snark.

At the sound, she relaxed.  Something about it telling her that past the pain and fear, everything was going to be fine.

He half-rolled away to meet her gaze in the near-dark of the closed space.  “Building’s clear.  We just need to get you around that corner ahead and out the access panel.  Then I can carry you the rest of the way.  Do you think you can crawl that far?”  Adam’s voice was gentle.  Encouraging.

It was too tight quarters for him to move her.  She was going to have to do this herself.  No matter how much it hurt to watch.

If he tried, it would hurt worse.  And take longer.

She stared down at her leg in the faint, murky light.  “Going to hurt like a bitch,” she protested, voice rough.

“If you can’t, I’ll figure something out.”  Not like he’d just leave her here.  He’d find some way.

“One way to find out,” she croaked in response as she slowly turned onto her stomach and rose up on her elbows and one knee.  Started her slow crawl, whimpering with every breath.  Pausing.  Shoulders heaving as bile rose in her throat.  Injured leg dragging behind her, dead weight that screamed with every shift.

Leaving a smudged trail of black in her wake.

Every gasp.  Every whimper.  Each muttered expletive tore through him as he lay uselessly next to her and let her struggle.  He had to close his eyes and bite his lip to keep from trying to help. 

The revolver glinted next to him, next to the place she’d lain.  His hand closed around it and he tucked it back into its place under his arm.  Mostly for something to do other than feel useless.  He just hoped he wouldn’t need it again.

Not today, anyways. 

His hand twitched on its own again and he ran a quick diagnostic, freezing it with his fingers half-curled closed.  It was all but useless anyways, and he’d rather shut it down than risk hurting Faridah by accident.

He’d get it repaired later.  Sometime after she got some medical attention and was resting comfortably.  Out of pain and out of danger.

Lifetimes passed as she heaved.  Dragged. Clawed her way down that vent.  Inch by godforsaken inch.

And finally, _finally_ pushed open the creaking access panel and, planting one hand on each side of the wall, hauled herself out and into the brightness of the corridor.

His passage was much quicker and quieter, once she was out.  Crawling out to find her laying on her back in the empty hallway, clenching a hand into her hip and panting for breath.

He knelt down beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder until the pinched look around her eyes eased and she met his gaze.

“How do you do this all the time?  I’m filthy,” she said once she found her voice, sounding floaty and detached.

“Why do you think I’m always wearing black?” he replied with a fond smile.

How did she do that.  Make him smile even in all this.

“I always assumed it was out of a secret desire to be Batman.”

He snorted, barking out an astonished laugh.  “Okay.  That’s enough blood loss for you.”

She huffed in response, wincing as she chuckled.

His knuckles brushed her cheek as he searched her eyes.  “How’s the pain?”

She looked even paler out under the fluorescent lights. “Worse than when I was sleeping.  Better than when I was crawling,” she said with a wince.  “Adrenaline’s worn off.”

He’d interrupted her nice nap.  For _this_.  Rude.

 “Okay.  Let’s get you out of here.”  Adam eased his arms around her back and under her knees, rising to his feet slowly and steadily with her cradled to his chest.

Even that gentle, smooth motion was enough to shoot fire through her leg.

She bit her lip so hard it bled. 

A harsh sob escaped despite her best efforts to hold it in and she mashed her face into his chest armor and dug her fingers into his arms.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he began walking.  An insufficient apology, but he’d rather say it than not.

She slumped into his chest as exhaustion turned her boneless and she let her arms drop in favor of wrapping around herself.  Suddenly cold. “In other circumstances I might find this romantic,” she mumbled as he walked them towards the stairs.

Grunting, Adam replied, “The only circumstances where you would find this romantic is if you were carrying me.  And neither of us was injured.”

“You still know me so well.”  She smiled, despite the pain.

He always could get her to smile even when things had gone to shit.

“Did you really think six months would make me forget?” he asked softly.

“I thought _you_ would make you forget,” came her reply, and he had to ignore the way those words made him ache just beneath where her ear rested.

“Never even tried.”

Oh.

She had nothing to say to that.  Or she had everything to say and couldn’t decide on any of it.  So she said nothing.  Focused on breathing.

That was difficult enough.

Air hissed faintly through the ducting.  Somewhere distant a coffee maker hummed.  A pocket secretary beeped a message alert. 

But the only sign of life in the building was Adam’s soft footfalls and Faridah’s pained gasps as they steadily made their way down.

It would have seemed abandoned entirely but for the bodies; lying haphazardly in hallways and half out of doors as they passed, puddles of red haloing around the black fabric of their uniforms.  Sightless, staring eyes.  The carnage discordantly silent.  As though it were missing some vital part.  As though if the macabre tableau could somehow put voice to itself, it could somehow seem not quite so wrong.

No sound could restore the life lost here. 

And if it did Adam would silence that too.

Faridah’s gaze lingered on one corpse in particular: blond hair.  Blank, staring blue eyes.  Blood slowly oozing from holes in his forehead and ruined throat.  Once-handsome face a misshapen mess of red. 

Once they were out of sight of it, she looked up at Adam with luminous eyes and a whispered, “Thank you.”

“I only wish I’d had the time to make him _feel_ it,” he replied darkly.

He looked like he’d felt it plenty, however brief.  “Me too.”

They walked on in silence, each caught in their own feedback loop of the last few hours.  Faridah grew heavy in his arms, slumping into dead weight as she drifted, barely conscious. 

He glanced down at her from time to time to check she was still with him.  To watch her chest rise and fall.  The flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks a comforting reminder he hadn’t lost her.

With his aug hearing in the silence he could hear every rapid, fluttery beat of her heart.  There was no need to look.

But he needed the repeated reassurance after coming so close to losing her.  After those awful seconds of thinking he had.

The parking garage was as empty as the rest of the building, and Adam carried Faridah to the pickup truck after a cursory scan of the cavernous room.  She woke as he eased her into the passenger seat.

“Wher we going?” she mumbled, words slow and slurring as he belted her in.

With his gimped hand, he fumbled a lot more than she had when she did the same for him not so long ago.

“Away from here.  Someplace safe,” Adam replied as climbed behind the wheel and put the truck in gear, driving them up and out of the parking garage and into the pale early morning light.

The moment his infolink came back to life a block or so away, he put the call through to Eliza.  “I have one Faridah Malik.  She’s got a bullet in her leg, but otherwise she’s alright.”

“Adam.  It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“Yours too, Eliza.  Where to?”

“I took the liberty of having someone clear out the safehouse.  They’ll meet you at these co-ordinates.  It should make an appropriate location to abandon your vehicle, as well.”  An attachment with directions appeared on his HUD and he opened it as he drove.  “They can take you to a safe location from there.”

“Thanks, Eliza.”

“I am glad you are both alright.”

For a given value of alright.  But alive was a start.

“We’re not out of the woods yet.  But we’re well on our way, thanks to you and Pritch.  I’ll update you on the regular now that my infolink’s back up.  Feel free to tap in, in the meantime.”

His HUD informed him that she had, a moment after the invitation.  _Talk to you later_ appeared along the bottom and the voice connection between them was severed from her end.

 _You too,_ he sent back.

The coordinates were a dozen or so blocks away and Adam drove with one eye on the road, the other on Faridah.  Her skin held a sallow hue, and the makeshift bandage had soaked through long ago, seeping into the blue denim that surrounded it.  “Hang in there.  Soon,” he promised softly, reaching across the seat to set his hand on her shoulder.

It felt awkward.  Strange.  Not quite right.  Like he should be holding her hand or not touching her at all.  Not this weird in-between.  Comforting her like a stranger.

But her breathing evened as his hand touched her, just for a moment.  And besides, her hand was pressed to her thigh just above the wound.  So it’s not like he could have reached for it anyways.

“They’d better have the good drugs,” she said, head leaning against the door.

“If they don’t I’ll go find some,” he promised.  He’d raid a pharmacy if he had to.

Adam did his damnedest to obey every single traffic law on the way.  It wouldn’t do to be caught by the police in a stolen vehicle with a gunshot-wounded woman in the passenger seat. 

Not to mention being augged with no paperwork. 

He stopped on an ill-used road that passed beneath a twisting overpass. Around them were abandoned cars that hadn’t run in at least a decade.  Some burned-out husks.  Others looked like someone had adopted them as home.  Empty barrels with char marks on the rim stood scattered around. 

The skin at the back of his neck prickled, and he could feel them being watched from the shadows, but anyone there seemed set on ignoring or hiding from him.

Adam scanned the area with his infrared, spotting two men standing out in the open next to a minivan.  They looked out of place here.  Too clean-cut.  Their van too… operative.  It didn’t fit.  He eyed them warily as they began walking towards his stolen truck. “Eliza?  Are those your guys?” he asked, reconnecting their voice link.

“Yes.  Troy and Calder.  I sent them.  You can leave the truck here and they’ll take you to a safe place with a doctor who can treat Malik.” 

Adam climbed out.  “Eliza tells me you’re our ride,” he said by way of greeting.

“Jensen?” the one with the goatee replied.  Adam had no idea whether he was Calder or Troy.

“Yeah.  She told us to get your stuff from the safe house.  It’s in the van.” The other man got back behind the wheel as they spoke, driving said van over and parking next to the passenger side of the truck. 

Adam beat him to the door, steadying Faridah as he unclipped her seatbelt. “You know these guys, Faridah?”

Peering over his shoulder, she replied, “Of course I do.  He’s one of my regular deliveries.”

“Good enough for me.  They’re taking us to a safe place.  Eliza says they have a doctor waiting.”

She nodded.  Braced herself for the inevitable wave of pain that would come when he moved her.  “Let’s go then.”

His hands were gentle.  Movements slow.  He was as careful as it was humanly possible to be.  (Or inhumanly possible, considering.)  It was still all she could do to keep her scream to a pained whine-hiss.  Beads of sweat sprang out on her forehead, glistening against her too-pale skin.  She shivered, huddling in against his chest as she white-knuckle gripped his chest plate, gritting her teeth.

Of course she found no warmth in the metal plating of the armor.  Though the presence beneath was more comfort than it probably should have been.

Goatee held the van door open for them and Adam climbed in with her still in his arms, knee-walking them to the opposite side of the cargo van and sitting with his back to the wall with her in his lap.

 “How far?” he asked the driver.

“Twenty minutes.  Doctor’s ready and waiting.”

“And drugs,” Faridah insisted, muffled into his armor. 

A hint of a smile pulled at the corner of the man’s lips.  “Yeah.  That too.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Her words echoed Adam’s thoughts perfectly.  Glancing around at the white metal walls and carpeted floor, he noticed his black duffel.  Dragging it over with his foot, he opened it one-handed and pulled out his coat. Spreading it over them both, he tucked his chin over her head and wrapped his arms gently around her.

“You okay?” he whispered into her hair. 

He felt more than saw her nod.  “Smells like you.”  Funny.  She sounded… content?  “Next time we do this, why don’t we skip the bullet?” she said quietly.  

“Okay,” he said.  Because ‘next time’ was a long conversation that he wasn’t in the mood for right now.  Or ever.  And not one to have in front of strangers.  Or while she was bleeding and in pain.

“How about you just choose ‘skip the bullet’ as the default option for everything from here on out,” he replied instead.

“Good advice,” she replied, nodding again.

The passenger peered around his seat to shoot them both an odd look.  “You alright, Malik?”

“I’ve been shot, Troy.  How alright do you think I could be?” she sniped back.

A relieved grin spread across his face as he turned to the driver.  “She’s fine.  They’re just weird.”

“Ha,” Malik replied.  “See if I ever deliver nupoz to you again.”

The two in the front exchanged a glance, and no return shot was fired in their brief verbal exchange. 

Eventually the van slowed down and pulled off the street and through a gate into an alley, stopping.

The passenger jumped out and opened the sliding side door for them.  “Follow me,” he said, waiting for them to get out.

Adam butt-scooted them out to the door, holding Faridah as still as he could through the motion.  The way her breath caught told him he was doing a shit job of it, but he kept going. His coat was a black puddle on the floor of the van with the rest of his gear, left forgotten behind them.

A grey-haired man in glasses met them as they stepped through the door from the dim, dingy alley into a brightly-lit workshop of some sort, with tables along the walls that were covered in half-torn apart appliances with tools scattered among them. 

“I’m Doctor Thompson,” the man said without preamble.  “Set the patient here, please.”

Adam paid the room only a cursory glance as he laid Faridah on the sturdy wooden table the doctor indicated.  It was covered in a sheet of heavy plastic, and Adam wondered just how often the workbench pulled this kind of double duty.

“Gently,” the doctor cautioned.

Adam barely managed to keep himself from snapping at the man.  She wasn’t a sack of potatoes and he’d gotten her this far without the damn peanut gallery.

“GSW to upper left thigh,” he said without being asked as he set her down.  “Bullet lodged in the muscle.  Missed the arteries and the bone.  Sitting pretty close to a vein, though.”

The doctor eyed him over his glasses, lines forming between his brows.  “How could you know that?”

“Advanced visual augs,” Adam replied shortly.  Faridah was in pain.  This was no time for an interrogation.

She gripped his bicep hard as the doctor pulled her leg straight, hissing in pain despite the man’s gentle touch.  “Where are those drugs?” she said between clenched teeth.

“Right here,” said the doctor.  “Painkiller and sedative,” he said, injecting it into her arm.  Malik sighed in relief.  Soon, an end to the pain.

“Sorry I don’t have any local,” the doctor said, pulling over a tray of tools.  “Getting that bullet out is going to hurt.”

She swallowed, groaning.  So much for an end to the pain.

Adam took her hand, humming in sympathy as he stroked his thumb over the backs of her fingers. 

“I’m going to to cut up your pantleg to access the wound,” the doctor said, not really asking for permission.

“Her name’s Faridah,” said Adam.  “Malik.”

“Faridah then,” the man amended.

He took the scissors, starting at the ankle.  Her pants fell open behind the blades, just beneath the outside seam, right up to the edge of the bandage. 

Pointing at a stack of gauze pads, Dr. Thompson instructed Troy to peel them open.  “Okay.  When I expose the wound, I need you to press the gauze to it, hard enough to slow the bleeding.  This will hurt,” he added to Faridah.  And made the cut, exposing her wound to the air.

She blinked back tears and Adam’s hand hard, knuckles white as the pain shot through her leg.  Hot and sharp at the release of pressure when the bandage gave.

Adam held on, her one point of stability and strength and comfort amidst the agony.

The doctor peeled the blood-soaked fabric back from the sluggishly oozing wound and Troy pressed the new gauze over it, as instructed.  Faridah arched up off the table with a keening cry, writhing on the plastic sheet and squeezing Adam’s hand even harder, the muscles in her forearm straining.

“Easy,” Adam rasped past the lump in his throat.  “Just a little longer now.”  He’d rather tear out his own Sentinel than have her go through this.  But all he could do was hold on, and watch.

Fucking useless, if you asked him.

“I need you to hold pressure on that until I’m ready to pull out the bullet,” the doctor instructed Troy, who was doing a good job of keeping the gauze in place through her thrashing.

Adam looked up, catching the doctor’s gaze. “Let me,” he said.

“Excuse me?” asked the doctor, his voice an irritated growl.

Apparently he didn’t like the aug with no medical training insisting on doing his job for him.  Tough.

“Let me pull out the goddamn bullet.”

“I am a _doctor_.  I’ve been trained for this, and I assure you that…”

“I don’t care how fucking steady your hands are.  Mine are steadier.  These are military grade augments and _I can see the bullet._ Give me the goddamn forceps and I can have that thing out in seconds with no unnecessary damage to tissue, and without torturing her unnecessarily.  Can you say the same?”

The doctor glared at him over his glasses as the seconds ticked by.  “Fine.  But for God’s sake, put some damn gloves on.”  He nodded to the box on the trolley to his side.

Adam glared right back as he released Faridah’s hand and grabbed a pair of gloves from the box.  He turned to Calder, who was standing nearby, ready to help if asked.  “Can you put them on?  They rip easily when I try.  And my left hand’s deactivated.”

Thompson glared all the harder.  Adam glared back.  “I don’t need two hands for this.”

The grey-haired man huffed a breath out through his nose.  “Stop dawdling then, and do the job.”

Faridah’s eyes shone bright against the clammy pale of her skin, pupils blown and irises down to a narrow ring of brown around the black as she bit down on her lip.

He met her gaze for a moment, comforting and steady as he moved to stand by her leg.  “I don’t want to do this.  Believe me, I don’t.”  The telltale sheen in his eyes told her more than his words did.  “But if I do it, it will hurt less and be over quicker.  Promise.”  His chest ached at what he was about to do to her.  But he’d rather do it himself than let someone else fuck it up.

She blinked.  Nodded.  Somehow, after everything, she still held that unwavering trust in him.  “Do it,” she rasped.

“I’m going to need you three to help hold her still,” Adam said, meeting each man’s gaze in turn.

It was the only downside to him removing the bullet: he couldn’t hold her down himself.  And none of the other three was augged like he was.  They weren’t strong enough to really hold her still.  Not like he was.

Thompson nodded to Calder.  “You take her shoulders.  I’ll hold her hips.”  Then turned to Calder.  “Her feet.  Don’t let her thrashing hinder the process.”

Adam grasped the forceps in his good hand before leaning his other arm just above her knee.  Careful not to hurt her, but holding her fast, even without the hand functioning.  Adjusted his augmented vision to get a clear view of the wound, and the bullet inside.  Aimed the forceps straight down the bullet hole.  And plunged them down into her jagged, mangled flesh.

The whole process took about three seconds.

For Faridah, it was an eternity. 

The instrument a hot poker as it sunk inches into the muscle of her thigh and ravaged every fiber along the way.

She screamed, long and loud and tearing as it clawed from her throat.

Bucked against the hands that held her.

Clawed at the plastic beneath.

He didn’t stop.  Didn’t slow down.  Just kept torturing her, twisting the thing inside her.

She’d have done anything to make him stop.

Adam shut all of that out as his existence narrowed to flimsy stainless steel and stubborn lead and red that wouldn’t stop blocking his view.

His aim was true.  His vision perfect.  But Faridah bucked and writhed beneath their hands.  Jerking her leg against the forceps.  And the metal inside was slippery.  The tool grating against tortured flesh deep inside as he struggled to find a grip on the bullet.  All the while, she screamed, a sound that scratched at the edges of his focus, demanding attention he couldn’t afford to spare.

All the while knowing it was he, not the bullet, who was tormenting her. 

And then he caught it.  Grasped.  Tightened his fingers so hard he could hear the thin instrument in his hand groan against the strain.  And pulled the offending lead out with a single steady pull.  Careful not to damage anything further on his way out.

Just like that, it was over.

He dropped the forceps carelessly into a waiting tray with a clang, splattering blood across its clean surface.

The gloves tore as he wrenched them off, letting them fall to the floor as he shouldered past Calder to put his arms around Faridah once more.

She sucked air in ragged gulps, sobbing into his chest as she clung to him.  Shivering as skin turned sweat-damp suddenly felt ice cold.  More misery to add to the screaming leg.

Tears stung at the backs of his eyes as he cradled her head, bending down to press his face next to hers.  “I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, Faridah.  It’s okay. You’re going to be alright now.  The worst is over.”

He continued to rumble soothing nonsense into her hair as his hands rubbed slow circles into her back.  Rocking her gently back and forth.

“I need to stitch this,” Adam heard over the sounds of her labored breathing.  Felt a tap on his shoulder.  “You have to hold her still.”

She whimpered as he leaned back to search her face.  “Almost over,” Adam promised as her head whipped back and forth.  “We have to finish it,” he said, still stroking her hair.

“I can’t,” she whimpered, tears escaping down her cheeks.  “I can’t.”

“Faridah,” he said, moving to block her view of the room with his face.  “You can do this.  You survived the EMP in Hengsha, remember?  All those men shooting at you and you just booted that bird back up and flew out of there.  And when you found me bleeding, trying to stow away in _Phoenix_?  You patched me up and got me to safety.  Even lectured me about not calling you.  You’re the best pilot I know, and the strongest _person_ I know.  You can do this.”

The glazed look of pain in her eyes eased, eyes turning clear beneath the sheen.  She nodded, dragging in a shuddering breath.  “Yeah… I… do it.  Just fucking get it over with.”

“I know, honey.  Just a little bit longer, and you can rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly he let her go, moving to brace her leg while Calder moved back to her shoulders, Troy to her feet. 

“Hold her as still as possible.  I need to put in some internal stitches and that’ll hurt.”  He turned to his patient.  “You hanging in there?” he asked.

She raised her head to look at him, glancing at her injured leg.  “Barely,” she replied.

“Well, as your boyfriend said, we’re almost done.”

“Not my boyfriend,” she replied.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” said Adam at the same time.

Thompson’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

Adam leaned across her good leg, pressing it down with his elbows as his hands held just above her knee and just below her hip on the bad side.  The doctor held a small curved needle in a fresh pair of forceps.  He met Adam’s gaze, nodded, and began stitching.

She screamed, bucking so hard against him that Adam knew he was leaving bruises.  He held her still, resolute.  Going to the cold place in his head once more, where he could feel like he was watching from a distance.  Like he wasn’t there at all. 

The place he used to go when he worked for SWAT and he had to see the pieces.  Or the little bodies.  Or the charred remains.  The place he’d made for times like this.  So he could get through.  Survive.  Not run away screaming.

The place he had to go to keep from pushing the doctor out of the way and carrying Faridah off to safety.

Why was this part harder than pulling the bullet out.

But safety.  Healing.  Was here.  Inside the pain and screaming and horror.  The only way out was through.

The doctor stayed calm, working quickly despite less-than-optimal conditions.  Minutes later he was done, cleaning the area around the wound before carefully taping a bandage over it.

Faridah’s clothes were soaked through with her sweat and she was gasping for breath by the end.  The screams had run dry, having scraped her throat raw and stolen her voice on their way out. 

“All done,” Thompson announced.

They were back in each other’s arms, clinging for comfort.  Hanging on.  Reminding themselves the other was still there.  Safe.  And that she could finally rest.  Heal.  No more torture.

She shuddered against him, breath slowing by degrees.

Some minutes later Troy approached, meeting Adam’s gaze from behind Faridah.  “We have a room for her.  And some clothes.  Follow me?” he said politely.

“One last trip?” he asked Faridah.  “Then sleep.  No one else gets to hurt you,” he said as he pressed his lips to her forehead.  “Promise.”

She nodded into his chest and he eased her into his arms, careful of the leg.  Troy led through a door in the back of the building, out into a little courtyard.  They passed two men were discussing something heatedly under their breath, all but ignoring the passage of the augmented tank and his charge, waving their arms and punctuating words with their hands.

They quieted as he and Troy walked by, starting back up after they passed out of earshot.

Troy led him past doorways with little planters overflowing with a riot of colorful flowers and benches cleverly crafted from scrap.  At the opposite end of the alley-turned courtyard stood a line of large storage lockers set at regular intervals in the wall. 

Adam had broken into his fair share of those, and seen more than a few that were being used as living space.  “It’s not much, sorry.  But it should be safe.  Dry.  And it’s clean.  The doctor’s staying, so he can check on her again tomorrow.  There’s a washroom just around the corner there,” he said, gesturing to a door in the adjacent alley.

The bed was just a mattress on the floor, but it was clean and piled with quilts.  A neat stack of folded clothes sat on a little table in the corner, but otherwise the room was empty.  And, as advertised, clean.  “Can you bring my guns and my coat?” asked Adam.  “And hand me those clothes?  I need to get us cleaned up.”

Troy flipped through the pile, grabbing a women’s shirt and pair of shorts. “This enough?” he asked, setting them on Faridah’s abdomen.

Adam nodded and thanked him.

By now she was barely conscious, head resting against Adam’s shoulder.  He wanted to get the blood off her before putting her to bed.

Adam carried her to the bathroom, setting her on the counter next to the sink and leaning her back against the mirror.  Blinking back a flashback of blood and cracking glass as he grabbed a clean washcloth from the cabinet over the toilet.

The remains of Faridah’s tattered pantleg hung bloody and ruined from where it was cut to the hip. Adam drew a knife from his pocket, neatly and carefully cutting it the rest of the way up so he wouldn’t have to pull it down past her wound.

Having a frozen hand didn’t help the process, but he managed.  He could at least use it to steady her, and with his fingers half-curled he could still hook them around the edges of her clothes.

She swayed on her perch and he half-lifted her to pull the remaining pantleg down off her butt before letting her rest again against the mirror.  “Stay with me just a little longer.  Let’s get you clean so you don’t have to wake up to this mess, huh?”

A frustrated noise escaped as she leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling.  “Make it quick,” she rasped through dry lips.

He bent to pull her sneakers off, tossing them in a corner for now.  Then pulled the ruined jeans the rest of the way off, leaving her in just her panties and tank top.  He’d come back and wash the shoes later.

Blood was caked everywhere but where the doctor had cleaned around the wound and the water ran rust-red from the cloth as he wet it, bathed her leg, and rinsed.  Over and over.

Until her skin was pale and unmarred and the water ran clear.

She was asleep against the mirror before he was even done the injured leg.  He let her rest, ignoring the faint snoring as he finished cleaning one leg and moved on to the other knee, stained with the blood she’d had to crawl through. 

As were his, come to think of it.  But he had a change of clothes in his bag.

And it was less apparent with his black clothes.

Done with her legs, he washed her hands and up her arms to the shoulder.  Discarded the cloth in the hamper in favor of a new one to clean her face and neck and swipe over her hair.  Used the same cloth to wash his own face and neck.

Then pulled her shirt over her head and pulled on the clean one, leaving her sports bra on beneath. After that came the shorts.  He slid both feet in and eased them up past her bandage and shimmied them up over her butt without entirely lifting her.

The gibbled hand was obnoxious for that part, but he worked it out.

Finally done, he bent to gently lift her into his arms again, leaning her against his chest while he carried her back to their room.  She didn’t even wake when he set her down on the bed, peeling the covers back under her to pull them back up to cover her to the shoulder.  “Sleep well, Faridah.  You’re safe now,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss to her temple, the specter of their failed relationship weighing on him with the familiar feel of his lips on her skin.

It took long moments of standing there just watching her breathe before he finally managed to pry himself away long enough return to the bathroom to change his own blood-and-dust-encrusted clothes.

Troy had deposited his bag in the room while he’d been cleaning Faridah up, and he grabbed a change of clothes from it before heading back to the bathroom.

The water was cold and the pressure was shit, but Adam took a quick shower to rinse the dust and blood off himself before pulling on a clean t-shirt and some soft sweats.  He rinsed both his and Faridah’s clothes, hanging them to dry over the shower rod.  Finally he did the same with her shoes, washing them as best he could in the sink and setting them in the tub.

Adam was only gone for ten minutes or so, but he rushed back to her side.  Not convinced she’d be alright unless he was right there with her.

He needn’t have bothered: she hadn’t moved since he left.  Still breathing even and soft.  The painkillers were doing their job.

Leaning his back into the wall, he slid down it to sit on the floor next to the mattress.  Close enough to touch her hand if he just reached out his own.

Arms resting on raised knees, he let his head fall into his hand.  Dragged in a deep, shuddering breath.  And reminded himself she was still here.

Still alive.

Safe.

Free.

Anyone who wanted to change that was going to have to go through him

He’d almost lost her.  Again.  Permanently, this time.

Fuck.

She wasn’t even his to lose.  He’d lost that distinction a long time ago.  Hell, he’d given it up.  His choice.

Caught in his own thoughts, he reached across to push Faridah’s hair off her face.  The gesture done before he really had the chance to think about it. 

When she pressed into his touch he left his hand there.  Resting gently over her hair.

He woke a couple hours later with his head on the edge of the mattress and a pair of brown eyes blinking at him.  “What are you doing?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up.  “I was keeping watch and must have fallen asleep.”

“No.  Not that.  What are you doing over there?” she asked, pain pinching at the corners of her eyes.

“I…”  Keeping watch.  Like he said.

“Adam Jensen.  I have had a really bad day.  I’m in pain and exhausted, and you don’t need to be on the floor.  So unless you have some good reason you don’t want your arms around me right now, get up here.”

Apparently not even a bullet could beat the bossy out of Faridah Malik.  Good to know.

Adam had no good rebuttal to that.  So he stood up, walked around to the other side of the mattress, and climbed under the quilt next to her.  She carefully shifted to allow him in against her uninjured leg, and he lay on his side next to her, slowly laying his arm over her side.

She closed her eyes, leaning back into his touch.  “I missed this,” she whispered. 

So had he.

But he wouldn’t let himself say the words out loud.  It would be so, so easy to fall back into this.  To tilt her chin up and meet her lips with his.  To show her just how much he hadn’t moved on.

To have her back.

But nothing had changed.  He was still out there fighting ghosts.  All that time apart would still take its toll on her.  On them.  The danger.  The secrets.  The distance. 

And they’d end up right back in the same place.

Better to cut that off before they got too deep.

Adam settled his chin over her head and held her close.  That was a problem for tomorrow.  But for tonight, just for tonight… he’d let himself have this.  Let them both have this.

One last night with his arms around the woman he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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